


With a Silver Practise

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Season/Series 02, Teenagers, Underage Sex, sexytimes with a half-transformed werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's attempt to find Jackson at the Winter Formal goes a little differently, and her eyes are opened to the realities of Beacon Hills a lot sooner. Her best bet might be to enlist Derek Hale's help against his creepy uncle, but she has to rescue him first, and once she does, Derek's got his own ideas. Too bad for him, since Lydia Martin isn't the type to let a recalcitrant werewolf call the shots. Alternate S2, begins at the tail end of S1 episode "Formality."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unwanted Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'll never write another note this long in this story, but first chapters are annoying like that.
> 
> I was very careful to never say "I'm done writing fanfiction! Forever!" because I knew that was a sure-fire way to guarantee I would write it again. Unfortunately, _not_ speaking of the (fic) devils doesn't actually keep them away, especially when they have gifs like [these](http://tinderbox210.tumblr.com/post/51823611162/prove-to-me-im-not-gonna-die-alone) to use to inspire hapless hacks like myself. Plus einfach_mich is relentless in her pursuit of the stories she wants. ;-)
> 
> I have a high tolerance for triggery things, so even though I've tried to be thorough there's definitely a chance I missed some warnings in the tags. One I wasn't sure how to tag: obviously this is a Derek/Lydia fic with explicit sex, and they are in a canon AU, which means there's an age gap there. If you see anything else that you think should be warned about, please do let me know and I'll add it.
> 
> At this point I've written twelve and a half chapters and have the final four mapped out. I've never failed to finish a WIP, but I'll understand if you don't believe that I'll finish this one until I mark it complete.
> 
> One thing that's different that happens off-camera: I've never believed that Kate could leap to the conclusion that Scott is a werewolf, so, in this AU, she didn't.
> 
> All my love to einfach_mich, grrlinterrupted, and FatedFeathers for prereading and cheerleading.
> 
> I don't own Teen Wolf. I do, however, shamelessly lift the dialogue when it fits, because say what you want about the writing (and believe me, I say plenty), but the dialogue in this show is great.

beautiful banner by [einfach_mich](../../users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich)  


 

Lydia always knew her time as an apparent idiot would end sooner, rather than later, but right now she wasn’t so sure the “apparent” part was true anymore. Derek Hale was still out there, and here she was in the dead of night, chasing after an asshole who dumped her in the most unceremonious way possible, having abandoned a really sweet boy who had just confessed he’d been infatuated with her for half his life.

Yep. She was an idiot. The act had become reality, the mental equivalent of her mom’s warning that if she kept scowling her face would freeze that way coming true.

“Come _on_!” Jackson roared, so far away she could barely hear him, and she stumbled toward the sound, high heels sinking into the grass as she moved toward the lacrosse field. It wasn’t like Jackson to drink too much. He hated being out of control even more than he hated being at a disadvantage, and right now he sounded completely out of control.

Something red glinted in the woods surrounding the grass out-of-bounds area behind the goal.

“Jackson?” she called, squinting in the dark, and the silhouette at the edge of the field spun, crouched defensively.

“What the hell do you want?” he yelled.

The red reflection vanished.

Lydia ignored the stab of pain Jackson’s contempt sent lancing through her– _honestly, get a grip on yourself, you’re too mature for a high school boy anyway_ –and asked, “Are you okay?” as she slowed her steps.

“Am I supposed to think you care?” He swaggered toward her.

The barest remnant of self-preservation had Lydia wiping her face clean of expression and giving him a negligent shrug with one shoulder. “No. At least I certainly hope all that booze you drank tonight hasn’t given you delusions in addition to your hopeless personality defects. Come back inside; there’s a murderer out.”

“I–” He cut off as one set of floodlights switched on. “Shit. One of the teachers must’ve followed you.”

Lydia reacted to the unspoken accusation with a snapped, “Maybe they followed you because they _saw you drinking_. You haven’t exactly bothered with subtlety, you know.”

Swaying in place, Jackson shielded his eyes and called, “Coach?” at the same moment she heard Stiles shout, “Lydia!”

The second set of floodlights illuminated the field, followed by the third and fourth.

“Lydia!”

“Coach?”

Lydia looked in the same direction that Jackson turned, and frowned. “Jackson, your coach doesn’t wear a trenchcoat.”

“Lydia!” Stiles sounded desperate. Honestly, she felt badly enough about ditching him; couldn’t he just have a speck of pride and go dance with someone else?

 _Like you did after Jackson?_ the little voice in her head that sounded like her father sneered.

The voice that sounded like her mother said, _Make sure he knows you’re the one who left him._

Of course, for that to work, she’d have to get him back first.

The unknown man’s approach was too rapid. It looked unnatural. A frisson of fear skittered up her spine at the sight of the predatory glide. Lydia took a step back, lost her balance as a heel drove through the turf, and fell to the grass, but couldn’t make herself care.

“No!” Stiles’ anguished scream was echoed by Lydia’s own, because the man had come into view and he wasn’t a man, he was a thing, maybe the thing she’d been telling herself didn’t burst through the window of the video rental place right next to her, and he was darting at Jackson’s side.

And Jackson _smiled_.

That made Lydia scream again, even though she should have been screaming because the man-thing had turned to her, blood dripping down his chin as he grinned and Jackson collapsed at his feet.

The monster had her arm in his grip when the first shot rang out. He barely scratched the inside of her wrist with the point of one canine before flinging her away and racing into the shadows. Men’s voices shouted instructions, encouragement, and she heard heavy boots running past her after the monster, but she paid them no heed. Crawling on her hands and knees, hair spilling into her eyes, she cried, “Jackson!”

Stiles slid down beside her, warm hands frantic against her skin. “Lydia? Are you all right? Holy shit, did that thing bite you? Are you hurt?”

The human contact jolted some of her usual rationality back into place. “No, but he is.” Pulling up Jackson’s shirt, she swallowed back the urge to vomit at the sight of the vicious tears in his side. “Give me your jacket.” He obeyed, and she pressed the folded fabric to the wound. “Do you have your phone? Can you call 911?”

“Phone. Shit. It’s in the jacket. Give it back.” Face contorted with distaste, he fished his phone from the pocket and gingerly hit the keys, avoiding blood spatter. Lydia focused on her self-appointed task while he blabbered in the background. Her head spun. She spared a moment to feel disgust for such a stereotypical girly reaction. “It’s me. Stiles. Um, we need EMTs to the lacrosse field at the high school. No, not for me, for Jackson Whittemore. He's been attacked by an animal."

"It wasn't an animal," Lydia said, low-voiced, putting more of her weight down on the gashes and ignoring the burn in her wrist. Red patches were breaking out on her arm, and they itched like fire. Jackson groaned in response to her ministrations.

Stiles shot an unreadable glance in her direction but kept talking. "It's a _huge_ bite. Like, _Jaws_ -worthy, swear to God."

Lydia's heart pounded. A matching rhythm fluttered in the cut the monster left behind. At first she thought the tightness in her throat was from the tears she was suppressing, but even when she swallowed it didn’t ease. The next time she tried to swallow, nothing happened, and then she couldn’t breathe, either.

"Stiles," she wheezed.

He did a double-take that would have been comical under any other circumstances, but she couldn't laugh even if she wanted to. "Lydia? Why are you grabbing your neck? Are you choking?"

She nodded, because she couldn’t think of any other way to put it. Cursing with a level of proficiency she wouldn't have expected, he scrambled behind her like he was going to give her the Heimlich, but then he forced her to lie down on her back, propping her legs up on Jackson’s torso, which was another thing she might have thought was funny any other time.

"Open your mouth."

Lack of air was starting to make her panic, but she obeyed even as her vision doubled and her body began to convulse. He swept his fingers through her mouth, a move she recognized from CPR classes. His lips closing over her own was the last thing she felt before everything turned into a frantic blur.

* * *

“Dude. I still can’t find my cell phone and my mom’s really mad.”

Scott’s voice was the first one that Lydia heard over the beeping of a heart monitor, but it was Stiles’ reply that made her eyes open.

“Can you just focus for one second, Scott? I’m saying, he bit them _both_ but she’s the only one acting human, so the difference is her, not the bite itself.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. By the way, what made you chase after her at the dance?”

“Are you kidding me? Peter Hale is still out there and we have no idea where Derek is and she just wanders out after Jackson–” He cut himself off as his voice went wobbly, and that scared her enough that she sat up.

“Lydia!” Scott and Stiles both tried to rush into her hospital room together, got stuck in the frame, and, with identically irritated glances at each other, shoved free to stumble to the foot of her bed.

“What happened?” she demanded, looking from one to the other. “Why am I here?”

A nurse with wavy dark hair walked by, stopped, and turned on her heel to come into the room. “What are you boys doing in here? She can’t have come around more than three minutes ago! Get out.”

“But Mom–” Scott protested.

“ _Out_.” She planted one hand on Scott’s shoulder, the other on Stiles’, and with a surprising amount of force managed to propel both of the boys through the door. Crossing to the sink so she could wash her hands, she said over her shoulder, “Hello, Miss Lydia. We’ve been hoping you would wake up soon.”

“How long was I asleep?” Lydia looked around, and the lack of any parental unit struck her. “Where exactly are my mom and dad?”

Scott’s mom dried her hands, then walked to pick up Lydia’s chart off the foot of the bed. “They’re both here, but your mom’s in the cafeteria picking up a salad and your dad ran outside to make a phone call.”

The easy explanation couldn’t fool Lydia. She’d been a pawn in their games for way too long, although by this point she was pretty good at running them both. “I can’t believe they couldn’t stop fighting when their daughter was in a _coma_ ,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Ms. McCall dropped the chart on the bed and caught Lydia by the shoulders. “Honey, you’re still catheterized. Move slowly or you’ll be in a world of hurt.”

Glancing down, Lydia saw that she was telling the truth and lay back down with a huff. “Ugh. _Ugh_. Would you please take it out? I swear I won’t fall on the way to the bathroom.”

Five very unpleasant minutes later, Lydia stood in front of the mirror, examining her appearance with disapproval. Hair matted and stuck to the side of her head, eye makeup smeared to hell and back, fading hives all over every part of her body she could see. Ripping off the bandage on her arm, she examined the blackened cut. It looked as if the scab had somehow gotten burned into her skin.

A knock on the door made her start. Her mother called, “Lydia, honey? Can I come in?”

“I’m showering.” Lydia flipped the lever in the tub up as she spoke.

“Do you need any help?”

Gross. “Um... maybe if I was _four_ , and still taking bubble baths.”

A pause, during which she could practically _hear_ her mother engage in an internal debate as to the wisdom of calling her on the sarcasm, followed by a reluctant, “All right. If you need anything just yell.”

Lydia stepped in without answering, grumbling to herself about the hospital grooming products. Her hair was going to be a frizz bomb after using the two-in-one shampoo. For God’s sake, it was as if her mom hadn’t even _thought_ before she came to the hospital.

Closing her eyes, she ducked her head into the spray. The cut on her wrist throbbed with fresh pain as the water hit it, but she ignored the discomfort.

A slight noise behind her made her jerk around, but she saw nothing except the open window. Since when had hospitals let their windows open? It seemed like they would end up losing a lot of money in climate control costs. Plus, the draft was making her shiver. Stepping out of the tub, she grabbed the frame and tried to tug it down, but it wouldn’t budge. After a few more fruitless tries, she gave up with an irritated sound and focused on washing. Trading dirt for institutional-scent soap wasn’t much of an upgrade, but the better she looked the sooner she could get out of this place and press Stiles for every bit of information he could give her.

Once she’d done what she could, she shut the water off, pulled the shower curtain to the side, and instantly jerked back, nearly falling on her ass.

The man standing before her looked familiar, and then he looked terrifying, because she recognized him from the lacrosse field and he was in her room. Still, something held her instinctive scream at bay. Maybe it was the total lack of huge animal teeth in the smile he gave her.

“Hello, sweetheart.” In a movement so quick she didn’t register it till it was over, he grabbed her arm and pulled it close to his face to examine the cut he’d left there. “Well, that’s interesting.”

Lydia swallowed, her voice coming out in a dry rasp. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Honestly, if this didn’t do it, then nothing will except ripping your throat out.” He tilted his head in speculation, eyeing the exact point where Lydia could feel her pulse rushing in her jugular. “But, you know, I have a feeling you might be more useful alive.” Dropping her arm, he leaned closer, his nose brushing the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Almost whispering, he said, “I’ve heard rumors that you’re a very smart girl.”

Lydia stood frozen, her knees trembling, hating herself as the touch of his breath made her skin break out in goosebumps that weren’t all from fear.

The monster jerked his head back, eyes flashing red for a bare instant, before again offering a charming smile. “Well. That’s my cue to leave, I’m afraid. Dry your hair; you’ll catch your death.”

Lydia blinked, and realized she was alone in the room once more.

* * *

“You really owe the Stilinski boy a huge debt of gratitude,” Lydia’s mother said, mechanically folding and refolding the hospital gown. “If it weren’t for him doing CPR until the paramedics got to the field, you would be dead.”

“Or brain damaged,” her father added. “Stop folding the gown. They’re just putting it into the laundry anyway.”

Mrs. Martin aimed a poisonous glare at him but erased the expression when she noticed Lydia looking. “I hope you’ll give him an appropriate thank-you.”

Lydia knew exactly what kind of thank-you Stiles would prefer from her, but she had taken advantage of the time she’d spent dressing to think things over. She could have died out on that field, and it was because she’d been chasing after an arrogant prick who didn’t even want her. Sure, she knew Jackson better than he knew himself, mostly because she wasn’t scared to understand the truth about his character and he was, and she knew he was vulnerable in ways no one else understood, but it was an idiotic _teenager_ thing to believe she could protect or fix him. So Stiles seeing through _her_ bullshit was no reason to think she should gift him with herself as a girlfriend.

Clarity. An unexpected side-effect of beast-man attacks.

Still, she enjoyed the idea of hanging out with someone who really saw through her public persona, more than she would have expected, and she felt a sort of responsibility as a fellow human being to do what she could to help Jackson through his obvious mental breakdown. Also, there was the fact that Stiles had known about the beast-man and not told her the truth, so she ought to tear him a new asshole for that little oversight.

“I’ll go see him as soon as I’m officially released.” She brushed her hair up to the crown of her head in a tight ponytail, the best compromise with its current state of rebellion.

Her parents exchanged an uneasy glance. Mr. Martin spoke first. “Are you sure that’s a wise idea, sweetheart? You had a severe allergic reaction and we’re still not sure what caused it.”

“I have a good idea what it was.” The blood was creeping through the bandage on her wrist again, spreading far too rapidly. Hiding it behind her back, she turned to her parents and offered her strictly-business smile. “I’ll be sure to avoid it in the future.”

 _Liar_ , a voice in her head whispered. It sounded like the monster.

“All right,” her mother said, reluctance clear on her face. “If you’re sure you’re ready.”

It took forever for the hospital to finish the procedures required for her release, but as soon as she set foot outside the front doors Stiles jumped up from the adjacent bench, arms overflowing with flowers, balloons and candy. “Lydia! Hi! Oh my God, are you really okay? You’re leaving now?”

“Yes,” she said, and grabbed his elbow, lowering her voice so her parents wouldn’t hear. “And you are telling me _everything._ ” His eyes widened. Before he could voice the inevitable protest she saw on his face, she told her parents, “Stiles is going to give me a ride. See you later!”

Once the Jeep turned onto the road, Lydia shoved everything Stiles had put on her lap into the back and turned on him. "You irresponsible jerk! You've known I was in danger this entire time and didn't bother to let me know what that danger really was?"

Stiles cringed. "I'm really sorry. I wanted to tell you, but, c'mon, Lydia, would you have believed me?"

She ignored that inconsequential question in favor of one of her own. “Was that Peter Hale who bit Jackson?”

He steered off the road for a second and then straightened course. “Um, yeah. That was him.”

Peter Hale. The monster. “So all that stuff about Derek being the one who killed those people was what? Just a bunch of bullshit Scott and you fed us so we wouldn’t guess the thing chasing us through the school that night was really a monster who eats people?”

“He doesn’t so much eat people as he does _chomp_ them, kind of like a dog with a rawhide...” His voice trailed off at her withering look. “Yeah.”

His fingers never stopped moving. Tap, tap, tapping on the steering wheel or messing with his hair or fiddling with the climate controls.

“Do you know what he is? Some sort of government experiment gone wrong?” Lydia watched the blood seep to the outer boundaries of the gauze on her arm. Soon it would start pooling under the tape.

Stiles’ fidgeting got even worse. She didn’t know how he managed to drive in a straight line with his leg jiggling like that. He muttered something she couldn’t catch over the noise of the Jeep, and then, when she glared, repeated louder, “ _Werewolf_.”

“Oh.” She looked at the bandage again. A drop of blood worked its way out of its confines and trickled down her arm. “Shit. So I guess I’m going to be one too.” The idea was so horrific that she couldn’t even muster a real reaction. More like numb resignation.

“No, that’s the thing!” Stiles’ eyes lit with sudden enthusiasm, and he sat up straighter. “I don’t think you will. That’s why your body acted like it was having an allergic reaction: it was rejecting the werewolf... venom or whatever. I think you’re immune to the bite.”

Lydia dropped her arm to her lap and stared at the road. One of them should probably watch it. “Jackson knows. That’s why he smiled.”

“Why he smiled? I don’t get it.”

“It doesn’t matter. Where is he? Already a werewolf, running around with Peter and... Scott.” The events of the past few weeks suddenly fell into place, presenting her with a picture that made a freaky kind of sense. “Oh my God, he’s one too.” Allison was dating a werewolf. Well, Lydia had made out with one. And if Jackson got what he wanted, she had also slept with one. “Does Allison know?”

“No, and you can’t tell her,” Stiles said with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Did you see her dad, the other night?”

Lydia thought back, trying to focus on what had seemed completely unimportant at the time. “He had a gun. I thought he was there because... why was he there?”

“His family hunts werewolves. And kills them. So if Allison finds out about Scott, he’s dead.”

Lydia nodded, listening to the drops of blood fall from her fingertips down to the floor. She repeated, “Where is he? Where’s Jackson?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Nobody does. He broke out of his hospital room and ran off. Nobody’s seen him for the past twenty-four hours, but Scott said the same thing happened to him when he got bitten, so I guess it’s normal, like, you know, werewolf normal, which is a whole different kind of normal from actual normal, so I don’t know how normal it can be.” Stiles sucked in a deep breath. “He’ll probably turn up soon.”

The bit of conversation she had overheard came back to her. “So if Derek Hale didn’t kill those people, where is he? How is Peter related to him?”

“Peter is his uncle, and I have no idea where Derek is, which is really bugging the shit out of me, because he’s our best bet for finding Peter and stopping him before he kills Allison’s entire family for setting the fire that burned the Hale house down with everyone inside.”

Lydia vaguely remembered reading the news article about that fire. “There were little kids in there. That’s murder.”

Stiles nodded. “I think so too, but apparently the Argents don’t agree.”

Which made it difficult to argue with Peter Hale’s intentions, but then again he’d killed his own niece so clearly he wasn’t a hero. “Would Derek just leave town, maybe? Get away from the whole situation?”

“Nah, he’s not the kind of guy to just let something like that go, and he wanted to get revenge really bad.” Stiles grimaced. “Really really bad.”

“Could his uncle have killed him?”

“No, he was... uh, Scott was at Derek’s house and the Argents shot the place up. Derek used himself as a diversion so Scott could get away.”

Well, _that_ was heroic. Lydia said, “So Allison’s family is holding him captive?”

“Yeah, or he’s dead, but she doesn’t know about it either way.”

Thinking over the pendant and the research Allison had been doing about her family history, plus the exploding arrowhead incident, Lydia sighed. “I think she’s about to find out. Somebody wants her to know, anyway, judging by her recent interest in the Argent background.”

Stiles looked startled, and then intrigued. “Not her dad. Her mom? Or maybe her aunt Kate; she’s kind of a badass from what Scott said. I mean, a homicidal badass but a badass all the same.”

God, it was such a relief to talk to someone who didn’t need every tiny detail explained and could make the same leaps to conclusions that she could. “My money’s on the aunt.”

Her head went light while she still spoke. Lowering her head to her knees, she moaned. Stiles' hand rested tentatively on her shoulder. “Lydia? You okay?” His voice went high-pitched. “Oh my God. What is that all over the floor? Are you bleeding?”

“I need to go home,” she muttered into her skirt.

“Home. Right. We’ll go straight there. Are you sure we shouldn’t take you back to the hospital?”

“No!” Lydia forced herself upright and repeated, “No. Please. My mom’ll take care of me.”

Stiles pulled over to the side of the road. His expression made her drop her eyes; it was so tender that she felt more embarrassed than if she’d caught him naked. “Can your mom keep you safe from werewolves?”

“Can the hospital?” she asked. The blood pooled in the palm of her hand as she cupped it, turning black while she watched. “Can you?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Take me home.”

With a heavy sigh, Stiles made a U-turn.

She hung her hand out the window all the way home, letting the blood fall to the ground.

* * *

The bedroom curtains fluttered in the breeze. Her mother had fussed about the cold but Lydia ignored her. The room felt too stuffy and confining with the window closed.

"This pale green paint isn't you," Peter said.

Lydia gasped and flipped to her side to face him. He winked at her, infuriatingly casual, head resting on his crossed arms.

"The most nondescript color imaginable. Who are you trying to fool, anyway?"

"Go away," she choked out.

"Nope, sorry, not going to happen."

He was so _fast_. One moment he lay prone, the next he was on top of her, pinning her hands above her head, face inches from her own. Lydia struggled to keep her breathing under control, a task made more difficult by the renewed flare of pain in her cut. He wasn't looking at her eyes, but rather her wrist, now with a fresh new bandage. He sniffed it.

"So I was right. You _are_ immune."

 _That's what Stiles said!_ she nearly exclaimed, before deciding she didn't want Stiles anywhere on Peter's radar. Instead, she shifted beneath the older man, trying to ignore the way the weight of him made her heart pound with unwilling excitement. "If you knew that, then why bite me?"

"You're my backup plan."

That sardonic smile did weird things to her stomach. Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her chin. "Lydia Martin isn't anybody's backup. I should have been your first choice." Wonderful. Now she was arguing with a werewolf about whether or not she was worthy of inclusion in his murder spree. Her decisions just kept getting better.

"You could be right." One of his hands slid down her side to the hem of her nightgown. It bunched beneath his palm as he smoothed it back up her thigh.

Now _this_ she could control. She'd studied enough sociology to realize that young females' value in modern society was primarily measured in terms of sexual appeal, hence the airhead act and immaculate appearance. She could handle one more male drawn to her body's allure. "Of course I am. I'm always right, which is why I'm dumbfounded that no one ever asks me, well, anything."

"Is that so?" Peter lifted his head, eyes gone hard, and she froze in instinctive response. "All right, then. I won't make that mistake. I know you discussed things with Stiles. Tell me, Lydia, where do _you_ think I can find Derek? Think carefully, because if you steer me wrong, you'll wish I had just gone for your throat after all."

Well. Wasn't he just the charmer.


	2. Rescue Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles exposits; Lydia acts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for all their input and pre-reading magic. And thanks to all of you who've read, commented, and kudo'd! It's always scary to start posting in a new fandom so I really appreciate it.
> 
> I don't own Teen Wolf.

He warned her he’d know if she lied. In the end, she decided to tell him part of what she had learned.

“The Argents have him, and I think they’re going to bring Allison in on the hunt soon.”

What she didn’t tell him was the content of the text messages she’d received from Allison just after she got home. _I came by to see you in the hospital while you were asleep. Sorry I couldn’t stay. Mom and Dad are making me leave town with Aunt Kate for a while but I’m going to try to get them to let me come back soon. Feel better._

“I know the Argents have him,” Peter snapped, but then he cut himself off, arrested. “Wait.” Rolling off her bed, he stood, poised on the balls of his feet like a runner on the starting mark. “Bring Allison in? Well, in that case, they’d have to show her that werewolves are real, wouldn’t they?”

Lydia closed her eyes, hoping to hide her reaction, and threw her arm over her face.

“Thank you, Lydia. You’ve been extremely helpful. Stay that way and you’ll stay alive. And do something about this room. Mauve, maybe?” She heard his footsteps moving toward the window, but then he stopped. “You should get that cut looked after.”

“By who?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she dared to peek, and discovered he was gone, with any luck following Allison to God knew where.

Still, there was no guarantee he wasn’t lurking outside her window, and probably werewolves had all five senses enhanced. Grabbing her phone, she put it on silent mode and texted Stiles. _Where is Derek Hale?_

A pause, and then, _Lydia? Are you actually texting me? OMG._

Another pause, then a second message came through. _I told you we don’t know._

_You mean Scott doesn’t know. However, *we* both know that you’re The Smart One. There has to be one in most partnerships._

She knew he’d instantly catch that implication, and so wasn’t surprised when it took him longer to answer this time. _What do you mean?_

Lydia rolled her eyes. _If there’s a way to find him, you know about it._

This time, he waited so long that she wondered if he’d given up on speaking to her, but finally he asked, _Can I come back over?_

_Yes, please._

A suspiciously tiny number of minutes later, her mother knocked on her door. “Lydia, honey? Stiles is back.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Martin,” he said, stumbling past her into the middle of the room. He reminded Lydia of a puppy, although she had a feeling that like most puppies he wouldn’t be merely cute for long.

The first thing Stiles did after her mother left was shut the door with a click so gentle it wouldn’t give them away to adult ears, cross to the window and shut that too, and then pick up her iPod without asking and scrolled through her playlists, only then returning it to its docking station.

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up at his presumption. “Do you mind?”

He pressed his finger to his lips as Lady Gaga’s less-than-dulcet tones filled the air. Beckoning, he sat down on the floor next to the side of the bed farthest from the window. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid down to the floor and joined him. “They can hear _everything_ , and if someone’s listening in... Well, it’s better to take precautions,” he explained in an undertone.

Lydia nodded, reluctantly impressed. “Now tell me what I need to know.”

Instead of instantly spilling the details as she’d expected, he folded his lips in, looking at her with concern. “But, _why_ do you need to know? What are you going to do if you find out?”

Lydia thought over the wisdom of letting him in on the puzzle of her association with Peter, but then decided that others keeping secrets had done her no favors, so she probably shouldn’t do it to Stiles. “Peter’s been by to see me. Twice. And he wants me to help him find Derek.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“I misdirected him—at least I hope it was misdirection—but I have a feeling we need to find Derek before he does, because I refuse to believe that man, or werewolf, or whatever he wants to go by, cares about anyone besides himself.”

“But... why you? Oh. Oh. The bite. You’re special, aren’t you? He can’t turn you so he wants to use you.”

Lydia couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. He seemed too horrified. Staring at the carpet, she whispered, “I think he thinks he owns me.” _I think he might be right._

“He’s wrong about that,” Stiles said with such firmness that she was able to look at him again. “Nobody owns Lydia Martin.”

She dimpled at him. “You really do know me. It’s sweet.”

Stiles caught his breath. Whoops. She hadn’t meant to offer any sort of encouragement, but drawing every nearby male into her orbit was a hard habit to break. He seemed inclined to let it pass without comment, though. “So. Derek. Here’s what I think. Scott lost his phone at the Hale house when the Argents attacked Derek and him. I think there’s a possibility that Derek took Scott’s phone after he realized he was going to get caught.”

“He can’t have thought he could make a call. There’s no way they’d let him keep a phone. For the GPS?”

He nodded excitedly and reached up to her bed to pull her laptop down from its spot on her mattress. “Exactly. If they were too dumb to ditch the phone, that is.”

“Considering Allison seems to rely on bows and arrows, I’m guessing they’re not really up to date on modern technology.”

“Point. Okay, here we go...” He opened up her browser and typed in the address for a cell phone company. “All we need is Scott’s username and password.”

“And you know those?” Lydia looked at him in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re not married to him?”

“Ha! Ha, no, totally het—uh, well, he’s my best friend, we’re not—oh, good, here we go.” He typed it in quickly, but not so fast that Lydia couldn’t see what keys he hit.

“You’re kidding me.” If she were Allison, just knowing Scott had used her name that way would have all her alarm bells going off.

“Sad but true. Aaand, ‘find my phone,’ and ‘GPS location,’ and... That can’t be right.”

It was too hard to decipher the map upside-down, so Lydia scooted over beside him to look at the green arrow. It took her a second to recognize the forest. “That’s where the Hale house is.” She sat back in disappointment. “Derek didn’t take Scott’s phone. Scott must have dropped it out of his pocket when he ran.”

Stiles kept staring at the screen as if hoping it would yield different information under the power of his attention. “You must be right.” He didn’t sound convinced, though.

“Can’t Scott sniff him out? Like a bloodhound?”

“That would mean going back to the house to find the trail, and the last time he was there it didn’t work out so well.” He tap-tap-tapped on the keyboard, not really typing but just thinking.

Lydia knew it was a long shot, but, "If I went with you—"

"No." When she gave him a disbelieving look, he backpedaled frantically. "Not that you wouldn't be awesome! Of course you would be! I'm the one who's scared of going there. Totally all me."

"Sure. All you." Lydia couldn't help the relief welling up in her chest, though she also despised herself for it. If Stiles wouldn't go, that released her from responsibility. She couldn't go by _herself_.

Stiles reached as if he were going to pat her hand, seemed to think better of it, and redirected his gesture to smooth down the back of his hair. “We’ll figure something out. Scott’s learning how to rock the whole werewolf thing, so I bet he can think of another way to find Derek before Peter gets back into town.”

“Maybe he can pick up the trail from another point, like the Argents’ house. I doubt they’re holding Derek in their attic, so wherever he is they probably have to drive there.”

He jerked in surprise. “I never thought of that.”

“This is why you should have told me everything from the beginning.” He blushed, looking miserably conflicted, so she took pity on him. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“I will, if he can pull his head out of Allison’s ass long enough to listen. Distance doesn’t work to distract him.” This time, he did pat her hand. “You should get some rest.”

“Oh yes. Right. I can’t wait to fall asleep and have nightmares about a werewolf trying to snack on my arm. Sweet dreams.”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah. I haven’t slept well in a while, either.”

Long after he left, Lydia lay on her bed, too freaked out to move, holding Prada to her side even when the dog would have jumped down. “Please. I cater to your every whim, you ungrateful little mutt. The least you can do is offer some moral support when I’ve been attacked by a supernatural monster and hospitalized.” After a few abortive attempts to escape, Prada settled, though not without a grumbling sound. Lydia fell asleep with her hand on one silky-furred side.

She knew it was a dream as soon as it began, but she couldn’t control her actions in spite of that fact. Crawling out of her window, she descended the wall in a way she never could have managed awake. Once her feet hit the ground, she turned to see a boy about her own age, with big blue eyes, standing there as though he’d been waiting. Plucking one tiny purple blossom from the ivy vine growing beside them, he said, “Keep this with you.”

“Or what?” she asked, taking the flower from him to inspect it in the moonlight.

“Or I’ll be very hurt.” He offered her a smile which she instantly distrusted. “Where’s Derek?”

“I don’t know.” Lydia put the flower in her pocket. “No one knows.”

The boy’s expression slid into skepticism. “Kate Argent knows.”

“She’s not here. She’s with Allison.”

He ran a strand of her hair between his fingers. “No surprise. She likes to harm children.”

“Allison’s not a child,” Lydia protested. “She’s our age. A little older, actually.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, with an amused look that irritated her for no good reason. “Our age.”

“And what do you mean, Kate Argent likes to hurt children?”

“She did know the Hales were in the house when she set fire to it, after all.” His gaze shifted; he seemed to be reliving a memory. “We locked them in the basement when we knew the Argents had come to attack, just as a precaution, in case of stray bullets or arrows... None of us thought she would aim for the little ones. It’s against the code.” Sucking in a deep breath, he looked at her again, offering an unconvincing smile. “Well. We learned the error of our ways. They didn’t burn to death, you know. It’s my one comfort, though certainly not much of one. Smoke inhalation killed them. The basement bunker protected their bodies, just like it was designed to.”

“Who are you?” Lydia whispered.

The boy scoffed. “I honestly expected better. That’ll teach me to put all my eggs in one basket.” Tracing her face with one fingertip, he added, “However attractive that basket may be.”

Lydia didn’t start awake, or gasp, or any of the other things movies had taught her to expect. Instead, she became aware of a tongue lapping across her palm. For a bizarre instant, she thought the boy had started licking her, but then she recognized the sensation and blinked her eyes open, pushing Prada’s head away with an, “Ugh.”

Looking out of her window, she saw it was still nighttime, with the moon hanging suspended behind a constantly shifting veil of clouds. After a moment’s contemplation, she sat up and then went to her dresser, digging through the drawers to search for the sort of clothes she never wore: jeans and a sweater. In general, Lydia considered clothing to be costuming, suitable for the role she wished to play at the moment, and one thing she never wanted to pretend to be was typical. Still, Habitat for Humanity volunteer service looked good on college applications, and that meant that she had needed to compromise on the wardrobe front at least twice. Finally, she found the things she wanted buried behind empty shoeboxes in her closet. Another, longer search turned up her one pair of tennis shoes.

She didn’t bother walking quietly to the front door, but her mother’s voice still made her start with surprise. “Lydia? Honey, where are you going?”

“I have something I forgot to take care of.” Lydia grabbed her keys off their hook and pulled her wallet from her purse.

“It’s three in the morning.”

Lydia gave her an incredulous look. “I certainly hope you’re not expecting me to go right back to school after being viciously attacked.”

Her mother twisted her nightgown in one nervous fist. “Of course not, but—”

“All right then. I’ll catch up on my beauty sleep tomorrow.” Before Mrs. Martin could voice another objection, Lydia strolled into the garage, shutting the door to the house gently behind her. Her father had given her the car as another move in his unending games with her mother, and her mother never grounded her from driving it because she was afraid Lydia would just leave to live with Mr. Martin.

Sometimes Lydia wished she would try. Just to see what would happen. She wasn’t nearly so sure of the results as her mother appeared to be.

Lydia wasn’t exactly sure where the Hale house was located, but her phone’s browser could access Scott’s provider’s website and do the GPS location thing again. Once she had the coordinates, she typed them into her navigation system and followed the directions until she was about half a mile from her destination. Pulling off the road, she turned off the engine and then the lights and sat, staring through the windshield.

Was she really going to do this? Was she really that stupid?

In answer, her hand reached out of its own accord and opened the car door.

“Oh, good, I would hate to think I’d suddenly developed some common sense,” she muttered, and got out.

Walking through the woods at night wasn’t nearly as frightening as she would have expected. Maybe there was nothing left to fear after you’d been attacked by a werewolf, or maybe there was so much to fear, now that she knew monsters were real, that her terror had burnt out, having consumed itself as fuel.

Just as the blackened shell of the building loomed into view, a far-off roar, like a lion’s, reached her ears. Out of instinct, she spun around to look for the source of the sound, but almost as quickly realized it was too far away to place. Just one more weirdness to add to the rest. Turning back to the house, she tried to plan her entrance. Probably there was a staircase inside, but if the Argents were holding the building they would be sure to see her coming.

While she stood, trying to think of an alternative, another, second roar, deeper in pitch, filled the air. This one was much closer.

Lydia knew the brief scream of a mountain lion’s call, and these creatures clearly didn’t fit the bill. The second one had sounded almost like a wolf’s howl.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself, and began picking her way to the origin of the second call. “Can’t a girl find a good excuse to _not_ do the heroic thing?” But then, remembering Stiles’ warning, she clamped her lips together and focused on walking as quietly as possible. Stupid. This was so stupid. What did she think she was going to do once she found him? _Ohai, just checking in—good to see you’re here after all!_ That would be super effective against the people with guns.

A brief search led her to a metal grate set into a rise in the ground. Kneeling, Lydia tried to move it out of the way, but it wouldn’t budge. Her shoes’ slick soles ended up slipping on dead leaves and landing her on her ass. She gave the grate a petulant kick... and it swung open. Part of it was a hinged gate.

Rolling her eyes, she crept into the tunnel beyond the gate and started following the trail of naked light bulbs illuminating the bricks. Torn-out pieces of black plastic littered the floor and walls. She half-expected bats to flutter out of the ceiling, but the place seemed to be empty.

_Okay, good. Now turn around and go back home. You can tell Peter you tried._

A man’s anguished shout echoed down the hall.

_Go back, Lydia. Go back home._

She walked farther down the hallway, hoping against hope that she’d find evidence she’d imagined what she heard, but he screamed again. Another roar quickly followed. Maybe Derek Hale had broken free and was eating one of his captors. Maybe he’d managed to take care of himself and she needed to get out of here before she turned into his dessert.

Turning another corner, she saw a big wooden door set on rollers. Behind it, a second voice said, “You know, my bat’s starting to get a little splintered, Derek. Maybe I should switch to a crowbar?”

The only response was a groan.

“You’re right. The crowbar’s a much better choice.”

Footsteps approached the door, and Lydia scurried back behind the corner to peek. A leather-jacketed bald man who looked like a Hell’s Angels reject exited, barely bothering to to slide the door closed again before striding in the opposite direction, probably toward the main house. In the instant before he turned away, Lydia caught sight of blood spatter across his front.

“Oh God,” she whispered, creeping forward to the gap between the door and its frame. “Oh God, oh God, oh God...” Peering through, she saw a man-monster not unlike Peter, arms outstretched and bound above his head to some sort of frame. He hung loose from his bonds, head lowered. The mutated features faded while she watched into something that looked a lot more human.

Still, Lydia wavered.

The thing that decided her was the sight of wires stretching from a generator to Derek Hale’s side. That was some extraordinary rendition-worthy bullshit. Even if the Argents believed werewolves were nothing but dangerous animals, they should put them down humanely, not torment them first. Maybe she could just free one wrist, or his ankle, and run away before he managed to finish the job himself.

With another fearful glance down the hallway, she eased the door open until she could squeeze through and tiptoe to the unconscious werewolf. Her attempts at being quiet didn’t matter, though. As she approached, he raised his head and looked straight at her. Breath strangled in her throat, she drew in front of him and gazed up into green eyes currently dulled with pain. He couldn’t seem to muster any interest in her presence, let alone surprise. Giving him a once-over, she saw dark purple bruises all over his bared torso, so many that unblemished skin was hard to find. Some of them were rapidly fading, but there were plenty of bigger marks that looked like they would be there for a while.

“We need to get you out of here,” she murmured, looking around for something to stand on. His arms were too high for her to reach.

Derek shivered when she spoke, but said nothing.

Grabbing a chair with no seat that lay in a pile of debris behind the lamp pointed at his face, she pulled it to his side and stood on the rickety frame, working at the cuffs. “Kinky, Aunt Kate.” Where did this woman get her supplies, the local dominatrix emporium? They must have used the pain to keep him too weak to tear through, because this didn’t look like anything a super-strong werewolf wouldn’t be able to handle under normal circumstances.

Ha. Werewolf. Normal. Haaaaa.

Derek’s head lolled while she worked. He needed to come back around because there was no way she could drag him back to her house. “Can you hear him?” she asked, tugging at the chains. The metal to which they were fused was so rusty, it seemed like it shouldn’t be that hard to pull them free. “Is he coming back? Should I hide?”

She thought he wouldn’t answer, but after a moment he rasped, “You should run.”

Fear clutched at her heart with icy fingers. “He’s on his way?”

“Not... not yet. But it’s too dangerous.”

“I completely agree. You’d better help or I’ll be dead, and I have _plans_ for my life.”

“Too much wolf’s bane to help. The cuffs are oiled with it.”

Wolf’s bane. Well, that made sense, in a horrible fairy tale come to life sort of way. “Ugh. This is ridiculous. I just broke my last good nail.” Ripping off the tape holding the electrical wires to his skin, she said, “Okay. That’s a start. Of course it won’t do you much good if I can’t find something to cut through those.”

“Run.”

“No.” She hopped down from the chair and headed for the wall beside the door, where various implements of torture hung in their holsters. After a moment’s inspection, she chose a thing that looked like a skinny curved axe and returned to hack at one side. It worked better than she had expected; the metal gave too suddenly and she slashed through the raw-looking skin close to it. Blood spurted out all over her throat and chest. She barely suppressed a scream but couldn’t stop herself from jerking away, which resulted in her losing her balance and crashing to the ground. The axe-thing barely avoided her own flesh.

Derek looked like he had fainted. The darkness creeping around the edges of her vision suggested she wasn’t too far behind him.

Taking deep breaths, she climbed back up onto the chair frame and started work on the other cuff, this time with more caution. He crashed to the floor when it gave. The sound of bones cracking sent a surge of nausea through her stomach. The Argents weren’t messing around when it came to their torture.

Now that he was unconscious, she didn’t feel so worried about any small cuts she might inflict, so she was able to chop through the links fused to the metal bars relatively fast. Dropping the axe, she crawled next to his head and shook his shoulder, trying not think about what might happen to a girl too close to a wounded werewolf when he woke up unexpectedly. “Derek. Derek, come on. We have to go, I can’t believe he hasn’t come back yet but I guess he must have parked miles away. Derek, _please_.”

He moved, and she scuttled back. At the same time, a voice at the door said, “Lydia, what the hell do you think you’re _doing_?”

Lydia hopped to her feet and aimed a frosty glare in Stiles’ direction. “I’m rescuing a werewolf, thank you very much. Don’t just stand there. Help me get him out.”


	3. House Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bloodstains wouldn't quite come out of her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for their pre-reading feedback. And massive hugs to all of you who read, comment, and rec.

The bloodstains wouldn't quite come out of her skin.

Lydia didn't care so much about the sweater. She'd grabbed it from her mother's Goodwill pile in a moment of necessity and throwing it into the trash was no hardship. Her skin, though—that was a different matter.

"I am not going to cry," she said between gritted teeth, scrubbing harder at her collarbone, where a rash had broken out beneath the splatter. "I am _not_ going to buy into the ridiculous social norms that dictate my automatic response to extreme emotional distress is tears."

The drop of water trickling down the side of her nose had just splashed from the sink. That was the only explanation.

"If that's the reason you'd cry, then what's my excuse?" Stiles asked from the doorway.

She started, and then gave a weak laugh. "I'm sure you sob yourself to sleep every night."

"Not _every_ night. Sometimes Scott cuddles me until I pass out."

"I hate the way I look when I cry. I won't do it."

"You look really beautiful when you cry." He came in and sat down on the counter, and then leaned close to inspect where she still scrubbed. "Lydia, it's gone."

"It's _not_ , it's still there, just look at this—"

Stiles barely glanced at the washcloth she held out for his inspection. "That's your own. You've scrubbed so hard that your skin is bleeding. C'mon." Gently closing his hand over hers, he made her set it down. "It's going to be all right. Just breathe, okay? We're safe for the moment."

Tears stung her eyes in perverse reaction to his kindness. "Don't." Looking in the mirror again, she noticed finally that the water had turned her cami transparent. To his credit, he hadn't let his gaze drift downward more than a couple of times since he'd entered the room, but she snatched the hand towel from its ring and covered her chest anyway. "None of us are safe."

"I took pretty good care of the guards, and they didn't see me," Scott said, pitching his voice to carry from his post at her bedroom window. Lydia jumped; she'd forgotten for a second about his hearing. "Allison's dad and aunt might not know any of us were there."

Lydia stalked through her hallway and bedroom to grab a random shirt from a hanger on the closet door. "Assuming he didn't talk and let them know about you." Scott didn't blink when she stripped her cami and shrugged the shirt on to begin buttoning it. He never even looked away from her face. God, his head really _was_ up Allison's ass.

Stiles came in and walked to her bed, where Derek was currently bleeding all over her sequined throw pillow. "I don't think he did or they wouldn't have worked him over so bad. Shouldn't he be healing?"

Scott stepped closer and planted one knee on the bed, bending over Derek to sniff his wounds. The easy proximity with the other werewolf struck Lydia as interesting. Most straight boys didn't get so close to males unless they could find a socially appropriate excuse, like a sporting event. "They did something to him to make it worse. I can smell it but I can't tell what it is."

"Wolf's bane," Lydia said. When both the boys turned to stare at her, she lifted her eyebrows. "What? He said the cuffs were oiled with it. He probably meant its extract, but whatever. They must have fed it to him or just put it directly onto the cuts and bruises."

"It doesn't smell like what was in the bullet that infected him that one time," Scott argued.

Lydia had no idea what he was talking about, but, "Lots of plants have wide variety within their own species. It's a good survival strategy. Maybe that's why it smells different. Unless you know of another thing that could have this sort of effect?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't..."

Just as he smiled, Stiles finished, "But Dr. Deaton does. Yes! Wake him up, Scott. He likes you."

"He won't keep on liking me, if I don't stop bugging him like this," Scott complained, but he pulled out his phone—recently retrieved from the table in Derek's torture chamber—and hopped out the window.

"Dr. Deaton? The man who gives Prada's rabies shot knows about werewolves." Lydia sighed and scooted onto the mattress to feel Derek's forehead. Prada, curled up against his side, snapped at her protectively. She scowled. "Evil little bitch. I suppose werewolves _are_ just large animals. During certain phases of the moon, anyway. His fever is worse."

"They're always warm."

Lydia shot him a _come on_ look. "I noticed the elevated body temperature before." Stiles flushed, and she almost winced. Making out with Scott hadn't been one of her finer moments. Rushing forward, she added, "This is more than that. His body's trying to fight off some sort of infection."

"Great. Werewolves can't get sick so it's probably the same thing that's keeping his injuries looking like something out of _The Walking Dead._ Can we put cold cloths on his head? And what's your mom going to think in the morning?"

"The washcloths are under the sink, and whatever she thinks won't affect my life one way or another. Jackson spent the night all the time before we broke up. She'll probably just assume I'm moving on." Lydia paused, thinking it over. "Actually, I hope all three of you are here when she checks on me. She works with Jackson's mother."

Stiles snorted, but then looked worried. "They still haven't found him. Oh, shit, I almost forgot." He scrambled out and came back seconds later with five washcloths dripping water all over her floor. Lydia decided to ignore that, instead helping him put them on Derek's head and chest. "That might help. You know, it's funny, the first time I visited you didn't have that print on the—"

"The first time you visited?" Lydia interrupted him. "When have you _ever_ been here before yesterday, Stiles? Besides in your fantasies, of course."

He looked as if he'd swallowed his own tongue. Scott leaped through the window before she could press for an answer, though. "Deaton's on his way."

Still pissy, Lydia turned up her nose. "Oh, he makes house calls now? Nice. I should have asked you to get him to bring flea meds for my dog."

Obviously confused, Scott looked to Stiles. Derek saved either of them from having to answer by groaning. All three of the others turned their attention to him, but he only muttered something under his breath and then thrashed around, one leg smacking against her lamp and alarm clock and smashing both to bits.

"Damn it!" Lydia surveyed the damage with disgust.

"It's okay. I'll buy you another one," Stiles offered. "It was my idea that we bring him here, so it's my fault."

"No, don't bother. I've been thinking about redecorating anyway." Not for the first time, Lydia sent a mental thanks to the doctor who kept her mom's Ambien prescription up-to-date. "Scott, is Dr. Deaton going to ring the doorbell?"

"No, I told him to text when he got here." His phone lit up in his hand as he spoke. "Wow. He must live close."

A few minutes later, Scott ushered the veterinarian into Lydia's room. She reflexively gave him the charm-smile, because middle-aged or not he could definitely get it, but that was quickly wiped from her face by his clear concern over Derek.

"This is bad," he announced after a hurried inspection. "See the black streaks, here?" His finger traced the lines stretching outward from the wounds. "I think they ground mountain ash into these and then let them heal over before re-injuring him in the same spots. They must have repeated the process until his skin stopped healing itself."

"I don't understand how the same family Allison comes from could do that," Scott whispered.

Lydia tried to picture Allison doing something like what Deaton described. She would have had to be really pissed off, but Lydia could believe she'd do it, especially if she thought it would serve a higher purpose. Her experience with being forced to go to the dance with Stiles proved that in a small way.

Stiles ignored Scott's interjection. "How can we get it out? Or at least help him heal from it."

"I don't know. It looks like it's getting worse. Was he able to speak when you found him?"

"Yes, but barely," Lydia said. The vet looked at her with surprise, as if he'd assumed Derek had ended up in her home by accident. Honestly. Men. "He mostly just tried to get me to leave him."

"Not surprising." Deaton checked Derek's vital signs again. "I suppose I can try to sear the locations, and at least stop the spread of the poison. If we can keep him alive till the next full moon, that might be enough. Transforming then can heal wounds that otherwise fester."

"What do you need?" Stiles asked.

Deaton shrugged. "A soldering iron? A blowtorch might work."

Stiles' face turned an amazing shade of green. Even Scott looked disturbed, but his voice stayed steady. "Where should I get one of those?"

"We have one, but it's not very big." Lydia rolled her eyes at the renewed surprise they betrayed. "We use it for creme brulee."

"That would work," Deaton replied.

Lydia turned on her heel and went to the garage, arguing with herself the entire way about the wisdom of what she was about to let three weird guys do to their weirder friend in her bedroom. It sounded like the setup to a bad porn video.

While she searched the shelves, she found a box fan and picked it up, too. Stiles was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. Flinging the blowtorch at him, she snapped, "Don't do anything yet," before tiptoeing into her mother's bedroom and plugging in the fan. The white noise would help.

"Are you sure she won't freak out if he howls or screams or whatever?" Stiles asked when she returned.

"I'll just keep the door locked and tell her I'm naked if she comes to check. She operates on a strict, 'what I don't know about Lydia can't hurt me' policy," she said with a smug smile, and then wondered why he looked sorry.

"We'd better strip him, to make sure he doesn't have any more injuries," Deaton said, unbuttoning Derek's jeans and pulling down the zipper. When everyone else froze, it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Seriously, you three?"

Stung, Lydia reached for the nearest cuff. Scott lifted Derek enough for Stiles and she to get his pants off.

 _Boxer briefs,_ Lydia noted, but only to distract herself from fresh revulsion. Sure enough, he had extensive bruising and more of the blackened cuts on his legs. Denim fibers had healed into the skin.

Deaton started the flame. "Let's get this over with. Scott, Stiles, you'll have to hold him down. Be careful of the claws, Stiles."

"Right." He positioned himself at Derek's shoulders, one hand on each. After a moment studying the setup, Scott straddledDerek's thighs and put his hands on the other werewolf's upper arms, careful to avoid the injuries and leave enough room for Deaton to move where he needed.

Wow. Even more like a bad porno. Or possibly a very good one.

The next few minutes were done of the most horrifying of Lydia's life, although she imagined it was way more horrific for Derek. Working with grim-faced efficiency, Deaton held the flame to the wounds for what seemed like forever. Derek roared, his face shifting with dizzying rapidity from beast to man, eyes glowing blue and then fading into dull pain. By the third time the vet moved the torch to a new site, his patient had passed out. Stiles looked like he was going to do the same, so Lydia darted around the bed and patted his face with hands that felt cold even against his clammy cheeks. "Hey. Stay awake. He might come around again and they'll need you."

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm all right."

Lydia figured that in this case, "conscious" counted for "all right."

Fifteen minutes later, Deaton twisted the valve to turn off the torch. "That's it. Hopefully it worked, because I'm out of ideas."

Scott backed off the bed and promptly collapsed on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his heads in his hands. Stiles ran for the bathroom. Lydia sank down to sit on the mattress, taking deep breaths and thinking about anything but the smell of burnt skin filling the air. _That poodle print is totally not me now. Maybe something more Warhol-esque?_

"Thank you for coming," Scott said. Still moving with caution, Lydia turned and saw Deaton pat Scott's shoulder.

"It's nothing. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, at... three?"

Deaton gave him a minatory look. "Four, Scott. You're in school till 3:15 tomorrow."

"Oh. Right." Scott still seemed confused. "I forgot about school."

"Understandable, but you might want to be careful about that." Deaton started for the stairs. "I'll see myself out."

Lydia waited for the click of the front door before saying, " _How_ does he know werewolf medicine? Have you ever asked him?"

Scott shook his head. "I just figured he wouldn't tell me. Derek never answers questions when I ask."

"Is that where you learned it, or do you just naturally keep anything traumatic and supernatural a secret?" Scott's expression didn't clear. Lydia suppressed the urge to scream in frustration. "You should ask." Stiles came back in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Better?"

"Yeah. Do you think we should bandage those?" He indicated the burns with a lift of his chin.

Now she remembered, from the night they'd spent in the school trapped by Peter: the worse things got, the calmer Stiles became. He was downright settled at the moment, so maybe it was time to worry about Derek's survival. "It can't hurt, but I doubt Neosporin treats mountain ash poisoning."

"Maybe it'll help just by giving his system less to deal with." Scott tilted his head, and his irises turned yellow. "He seems a little better."

Lydia couldn't see any difference. Derek still looked more like a really ripped zombie than anything else.

After she retrieved the first aid kit, the three of them worked in silence to take care of all the wounds they could see, and some Lydia and Stiles couldn't. Scott's bandages were neat, and he moved with efficient gentleness that confused Lydia until she remembered his mom's job. Stiles' bandages were a mess of gauze and random tape placement, but since they covered what they were supposed to she didn't remark on them.

"Great," she said when that was done. "Now, get out."

"What? No," Scott said.

"I'll sleep in my Jeep," Stiles added.

Crossing her arms, Lydia leveled a gimlet-eyed gaze at both of them. "I'll call your parents."

At last they relented, at least enough for Stiles to move the Jeep around the corner and Scott to sneak back onto the roof. Lydia knew, of course, but she was willing to settle for having her room mostly to herself again. She didn't have many friends, and Jackson had been the only boyfriend she'd allowed to spend much time in her home, so she wasn't used to sharing her space. She couldn't do anything about Derek, and didn't want to since he might be her only reliable source of information about Peter.

She fell asleep next to him, curled up sideways on the blankets in a relatively blood-free spot. Just because she had a nasty werewolf hogging most of the space in her bed didn't mean she should have to spend the night on the floor.

Once again, she descended her wall to meet the blue-eyed boy in the garden.

"Where are your shoes?" she asked when they drew level.

He ignored the question and smiled. "Did you keep it?"

Lydia got the same sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she felt when she didn't know for sure that she'd aced a test. "Keep what?"

He _tsk_ ed and reached into her skirt pocket to pull out the tiny purple flower. "You shouldn't forget things that are this important."

"It's just a flower," she protested. "It's not all that pretty and it doesn't smell like anything."

"Careful." He tucked it back into her pocket and patted her hip. "The leaves aren't safe even for humans."

"Then why do I have to carry it?"

"Excellent question."He shrugged. "We can't help what we're born with."

She knew this one. "Only what we do with it."

"In your case, it's more what I do with it." He pulled a handful of something from his pocket. Peering down in the moonlight, she saw that it was a purple powder. He began to let it trickle to the ground between his fingers, moving so that it drew a spiral around them both. When he finished, he turned back to her and lifted one hand to cradle her cheek.

"Why is your skin so warm?" she whispered.

"Like I said..." He kissed her so quickly that all she felt was the burn on her lips, and faded into the dark with a chuckle.

Her mother's familiar knock on the door startled her awake. Blinking against the sunlight pouring in through the window, Lydia sat up. "Yes?"

"Can I come in, sweetheart?"

Lydia could practically see the worry travelling in waves through the door, but her mom would be a whole lot more worried if she caught sight of Lydia's bedmate. "I'm not feeling up to another human seeing me." After a pause, she added a judicious, "I'm sorry."

"All right. I have to go to work. If you need anything, call or text, all right? I bought Luna bars; they're on the counter."

Lydia's stomach rebelled at the thought of eating anything, but she kept her tone as normal as she could. "All right."

A few minutes later, the sound of the garage door lifting and then rolling down again let her breathe a sigh of relief. First things first: she absolutely had to shower. Somehow Derek and she had wound up curled against each other during the course of the night. When she lifted one hand to her hair, she discovered the blood had dried there. Trying not to burst into tears—an effort that resulted in her whimpering with her lips pressed firmly together, producing a bizarre muted sound—she rushed to the bathroom and didn't even wait for the water to warm before leaping under the spray. At least now she could actually smell like herself again. Or, rather, like J'adore and Alterna 10.

She didn't realize she'd left her clothes in her bedroom until after she'd dried off. Sighing in exasperation, she wrapped the towel tightly around her and padded back to her bedroom, where Derek still lay immobile.

"Now, what outfit best says, 'I was attacked by your evil uncle and might be losing my mind so I need your help, please don't eat me'?" she said under her breath, sliding hangers from right to left as she inspected her wardrobe. Most of the time she tried to emphasize the power of her social status as well as that of her legs, but this time... "The zipper-front dress. Ruffles look helpless and I'm pretty sure it's from Target, which is automatically sad. And maybe this lumpy little gray cardigan because it is _freezing_ out."

Dropping the towel to the floor after another glance at the comatose guy on the bed, she crossed to her dresser to decide on her lingerie.

All thoughts of shell pink versus jewel-tone blue flew right out of her head when she caught a flicker of movement in the vanity mirror. One of Derek's arms clamped around her waist, the other grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, and before she knew it she was pinned by a _very_ pissed off werewolf's body, face down on the mattress, with him breathing fire-hot on her shoulder.

"Who the hell are you, and why the fuck am I here?" he growled.

Lydia considered being kind to the invalid, but in the end she was too angry about being at such a disadvantage. "Don't be scared. I know you're probably wondering what that _thing_ is above your head. It's called a ceiling. And the light source bolted into it is a chandelier. If it makes you feel more at home, I can set fire to the room, as long as you just let me the hell off my bed."

Clearly Derek's first reaction to confusion was to freeze. Lydia bit the inside of her cheek and counted her breaths in her head to keep from screaming at him.

After a long moment, his grip on her hair eased, but he didn't back off. "Answer my questions."

"Derek, let her go!" Scott ordered from the window.

Lydia took advantage of Derek's momentary distraction to flip over and face him. "Yeah, Derek. Let me go. I promise I'll help you, if you help me."

And if he didn't, well, her knee was right at a prime ball-crushing angle.


	4. An Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fine. You win. I'll stay here with the shapeshifting brute who attacked me. No problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inappropriate love to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for their prereading help. And big thanks to all of you who are reading.

Derek's canines elongated in front of her eyes. At the same time, she felt him getting hard against her thigh. Lydia worried for an instant whether he would lose his grip on himself and tear her to pieces or sexually assault her, but he set his jaw and backed off, averting his face as he did so.

"I'm sorry."

 _For the wrestling match or the erection?_ she wanted to ask, but then remembered she was still unclothed. Rushing back to her closet, she put on her bathrobe while Scott said, "Seriously, dude, what the hell?"

"I-I don't..." A crashing sound made Lydia jump. When she stuck her head around the door, she saw that Derek had collapsed again, this time breaking her bedside table with his head. Apparently most of his blood supply had rushed somewhere _else_. There was still enough of it to gush from his scalp, though.

More stains. On her _carpet._

Stomping her foot, she exclaimed, "This is ridiculous. Get out. I'm going to dress and then we're moving him away from here before I have to spend a fortune repairing werewolf-related damage."

"Oh." Scott looked her up and down, eyes wide. "You're naked."

She'd forgotten to tie the sash. Shrieking wordlessly, Lydia drew the bathrobe tightly around her body. Scott knew how to respond to a woman pushed beyond endurance. He turned tail and ran.

Lydia pulled on her clothes, squashing the urge to "accidentally" kick Derek the entire time. Once she had her half-boots on, she leaned out her window to catch sight of Scott hovering nearby. "Tell Stiles to pull back around. We might not be able to take him back to his house but there are plenty of abandoned buildings in the old warehouse district. He's used to sleeping out in the elements anyway."

He didn't bother denying Stiles' proximity. Within sixty seconds the Jeep pulled into her garage. Lydia hit the switch again to close the door. Mrs. Nelson across the street had a binocular addiction and cherished the delusion that she was the reincarnation of Jimmy Stewart's _Rear Window_ character.

The two boys wrestled Derek's jeans back onto him while Lydia gathered some necessities, and then they all headed for the Jeep.

"I swear he weighs more than he did yesterday," Scott grunted, shoving Derek into the backseat without much care. Lydia set some bags she'd packed beside him.

"You're probably just more tired," Stiles replied, adjusting the rear view mirror to look at the back. "Hurry up. School starts in like twenty minutes."

Lydia let them out, and almost walked through the front door before remembering that abandoned buildings didn't usually come with blankets. Huffing with exasperation, she dragged herself back upstairs and stripped her bed. Derek could just keep all the stuff he'd made disgusting with his bodily fluids. She'd tell her mother it made her think of Jackson so it had to go.

It took longer than either of the boys wanted, but at last they settled on the remnants of the failed railway-depot-renovation-cum-subway project begun six months before the housing crash. Lydia had only been in middle school at the time, but her dad's disgust at the waste of money had stuck in her memory.

"Wow, look at the—" Stiles started as they set up a nest for Derek in a corner.

Lydia cut him off with a glare. "This isn't the time to admire architecture. We have to get back. You still need to drop me off before you go to school."

Stiles and Scott exchanged nervous glances and shuffled their feet.

"What?" She knew the expressions on their faces. Those were the "you tell Lydia the thing she doesn't want to hear," "no, you" expressions.

"We don't think you should be home by yourself," Scott blurted.

"Peter's going to find out you sent him on a wild goose chase and then he'll be back for more," Stiles added.

"He's really freaking scary, Lydia, trust me." Scott bounced on his heels nervously.

Lydia whipped up her arm and pointed at the bandage there, still leaking what looked like black oil. "Yes. _I know that_. Tell me how being here is safer than my home."

Stiles gave her a reproving look like she was the unreasonable one. "He doesn't know where we took you."

"Yet. He can follow the scent of your Jeep, right? So I'm screwed." Hearing herself say the words took some of the wind out of Lydia's sails. She'd rescued a werewolf from vigilantes with centuries of experience backing their efforts, and now they were looking for that werewolf, his psychotic uncle was looking for both of them, and all she had on her side was two teenaged boys and her own wits. Oh, plus the unconscious guy in the corner who'd wrestled her into submission within two seconds of coming around. With unsteady steps, she made her way to the stairs and sank down, repeating, "I'm screwed. Oh God."

"No." Stiles rushed forward and grabbed her hand, then released it just as quickly. "Look, I know it's terrible and everything is the worst, plus it's not like you'll ever be able to look at a full moon the same again, and sure you're bleeding ink like an _extremely_ attractive octopus, but we are going to figure all this out and you can go back to worrying about the Fields medal thingy."

"I'm not at all worried about that." Lydia stared past him at Scott, who looked like a puppy who knew he was about to be scolded. "The supernatural weirdness, on the other hand... Fine. You win. I'll stay here with the shapeshifting brute who attacked me. No problem."

They ran past her up the staircase without bothering to respond to that last. Scott complained, "We missed all of first period,"as the door slammed closed behind them.

"Ugh. Priorities, Scott!" she whispered to herself, and pulled her phone out of her clutch.

Fifteen rounds of Googling later, Derek finally stirred again. Lydia crept closer, even though that was probably a dumb move considering he could move faster than her eyes could see. "Derek?"

His head lolled, but then he blinked, looking directly at her face without searching first. They stared at each other until he croaked, "Who are you?"

"I'm the person who rescued your ass from Allison Argent's aunt," she replied, forcing herself to straighten and lift her chin like a girl who wasn't absolutely terrified of her companion might. "Not to mention from the hired help."

His eyes drifted closed, and he laughed, a near-soundless exhalation. "Not by yourself you didn't. This place reeks like Stiles and Scott. And that dick Jackson. How'd he get mixed up with those two? Never mind; I don't care."

Lydia flinched with an unexpected stab of pain. "He wasn't here."

He sounded more tired than anything else. "Don't lie."

"I'm not. You're smelling my blankets. I haven't washed my comforter since Jackson and I broke up."

With what looked like serious effort, he opened his eyes again and focused on her. "What's your name?"

"Lydia Martin."

"Welp." He lurched to his feet and swayed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. "This has been fun, Lydia. I'll see you around."

"You're not going anywhere,"she said, hoping he didn't catch the slight quiver in her voice. "Dr. Deaton said you've got mountain ash induced liver toxicity. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the whites of your eyes are actually yellow. Does that sound like a good state to be in when you need to avoid the Argents? Plus, your creepy uncle is on my case and I need your help." He staggered. Stepping back in case he decided to fall on her, she added, "And you have no place to go."

As if she'd delivered a punch to his gut, he folded in the middle and sat down, hard, on the pile of blankets behind him.

Lydia waited, but he didn't seem capable of speech, so she tried, "Are you hungry?"

He looked like he'd like to deny it, but eventually he gave a reluctant nod.

"I brought food." One thing she knew about boys: they could always eat. Derek was a few years older, but if his body was working overtime to heal itself he could probably use extra calories. Lugging the cooler bag over, she said, "I hope you're not a vegetarian."

He laughed again, that same almost silent huff. "I'm not _that_ much of a masochist."

Lydia didn't care for most meat or poultry, and didn't see it as a sacrifice, but decided not to mention it. "Well, there's a steak in there, plus other stuff. Help yourself." If he expected her to set it out for him...

As it turned out, he didn't, and apparently he also didn't expect her to have brought any sort of cutlery. He fished the steak out with one hand and tore into it without ceremony.

Lydia cleared her throat significantly. Derek jerked up his head mid-bite to lift his eyebrows at her in query. She said, "I brought a fork. And a knife, not that you need it. Also a plate. And napkins." Just because he was roughing it didn't mean she expected him to act uncivilized.

Shame-faced, he rooted through the bag until he found the things she'd mentioned. Once he cleaned the bone, he started on the Tupperware container of macaroni salad. In between bites, he said, "Tell me about my uncle." Lydia explained what she could. Derek didn't seem to be listening all that intently, but when she was done he sighed. "Why should I help you, exactly?"

"He killed your sister," she said in disbelief. "Why should you help _him_?"

"He wasn't in his right mind. It was an accident."

He had an unbearably smug little smirk on his face when he said it, like, _it's a werewolf thing, you wouldn't understand,_ and that was what made her lose her temper. "Oh really? Because I'm having a hard time believing that anyone who wasn't part of your furry little cartel would know exactly what this means." She unlocked her phone screen and thrust it toward him. "See the spiral on that deer? I Googled 'supernatural symbolism' while you were out of it and the spiral reminded me of something." Something that a boy she was starting to think was a younger version of Peter had showed her, but she couldn't figure out if he knew what he was telling her or if it was an involuntary connection caused by the bite. "It means 'vengeance,' right? Though I'm not sure what good marking up Bambi's mom did."

Derek's eyes had gone wide, and the words seemed to have trouble leaving his throat. "It's a way we communicate, with hunters or other werewolves."

"Really. Well, if memory serves, this deer's picture was in the paper several months ago. When did your sister die?"

"That deer was the reason she came. She knew it was probably a member of our family who had marked it and..." He trailed off, staring past her at nothing, except possibly the realization of his own willful blindness.

"And what member of your family happened to be here the entire time?" she asked, because he deserved a little salt to grind in the wound after the condescension.

"But it was an accident. He was catatonic."

He sounded so young that she had to still a twinge of sympathy. "Peter seems to be extremely resourceful. Not to mention good at recruiting assistance. Can you think of anyone who might have been helping him?" His silence told her what she needed to know. "He's playing a long game, Derek. You can't trust him."

He looked away. "And I should trust you?"

"You don't have to. At least, not totally." She didn't trust herself right now, after all, so she couldn't exactly expect him to do so. "But I think we can help each other, regardless. You want revenge, and I want to not be tied to Peter for life."

Shifting uncomfortably, he gave her a sideways glance. "You might be anyway. I don't understand why you're not one of us right now, but he's your Alpha, technically speaking."

"Technically." She crossed her legs with a petulant sound. "Ugh, that whole Alpha thing is so misogynistic."

"My sister was my Alpha," he contradicted. "It's not democratic, but it's not misogynistic, either."

So he was used to taking orders from a female. Better than she had expected. "Sorry. Clearly there's quite a bit I need to learn. I'll need you to teach me."

Derek didn't seem at all averse to the concept, merely shrugging as he bit into an apple.

"You're not exactly what anyone would call verbose, are you?"

"If there's something to talk about, I talk." He narrowed his eyes, gazing at her bandaged wrist. "It smells wrong."

"Any idea why it's not healing? I know I'm immuned to being wolf-ified, but how about just dying of infection?"

A shadow crossed his face. "You would be dead already. And, Peter is full of shit. How can you be immune to something like that?" Throwing the apple core into a corner, he crawled closer. Despite herself, her mouth went dry at the sight of all that muscular grace approaching on hands and knees. "It's not like it's a virus. Let me see."

"Your social skills are rusty," she grumbled, but held out her arm.

His touch, unexpectedly delicate as he removed the tape and gauze, made gooseflesh break out all the way up to her shoulder, but he acted as if he didn't notice. "It doesn't smell infected, either. But wounds given by an Alpha are harder to recover from, even for other werewolves." Before she understood what he meant to do, he ducked his head and ran the tip of his tongue across the scratch. With a squawk, Lydia jerked her hand back. Derek didn't seem fazed by her reaction. "It tastes dead."

"Are you saying I _am_ dying?" she gasped.

"No." He rolled his eyes. "I'm saying the blood is dead. Your body's working to get rid of the blood that the bite tried to transform."

"You could stand to choose your words more carefully."Rubbing her wrist, she thought about what he'd said. "Well, red blood cells live, what, about four months, normally? So I wonder if I'm going to be dripping black gunk all through summer. God, I'm so tired it's hard to think."

"I don't think it'll be that—"

Silence stretched on long enough that she bothered to look at him again, ready to ask for the end of the sentence. Derek's wondering expression tied her tongue, though. Somehow, in the rushing around and life-or-death stuff, she'd failed to notice, but he was so hot he nearly crossed the line into beautiful, especially when he turned those dark-lashed eyes on her full force.

"Wait. I remember you now." He sat back on his haunches, the revelation dawning on his face. "I thought it was a hallucination when you came in." With one fingertip, he brushed the cardigan back, down her shoulder, examining the area exposed by the square neckline of her dress. "The blood."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," she managed to reply.

"Don't be ridiculous. You did what you had to, to get me out of there. Did you know Scott was coming?"

Lydia laughed. "Scott and Stiles have done their best not to let me know anything. I needed you, so I had to find you."

"You didn't _have_ to risk your life." He swept his thumb across the skin beneath her collarbone, where the rash had faded to tiny dotted scabs. "I'll do it. I'll help you."

Lydia didn't often gift people with her real smile, since that wasn't what they wanted or would get her what _she_ wanted, but she could feel it curving her mouth now. Derek let his hand fall back to the floor and offered a tentative half-smile in return.

"Maybe you should get some rest," she suggested. "Since you nearly died and everything."

She expected an objection, but he only nodded and rose to his feet. "I'll be right back."

While she waited for him to return, her eyelids grew heavier until her head started sinking. In all the flurry of activity, it had been easy to forget how little sleep she'd managed to achieve, but now the monster attacks and daring rescue efforts were catching up with her.

"Are you okay?"

She was too tired to even bother with being startled. "Just exhausted. I don't know how Scott and Stiles do this."

"Sleep deprivation's a lifestyle sometimes. You probably need rest too, though."

"Mm-hmm." The floor would do. Her usual high standards had evaporated with her energy. Cold seeped into her limbs from the concrete, but just before she passed out she felt something warm settle around her shoulders.

 _That blood had better be dry because I'll kill somebody if he stains one more thing,_ she thought, and then gave in to sleep.

Stiles' voice, high and strained, woke her. "There's no way that's going to hold him, trust me." Lydia decided to keep still and listen. Maybe she'd learn something.

"Yes, it will." She could tell by the tightly controlled exasperation in Derek's tone that this wasn't the first time he'd offered assurance on that point. "He's in much better control of himself than he was last full moon. This'll be fine. What else are you going to do, lock him in a boiler room?"

"I guess you're right. I'll bring him here tomorrow."

"Good." A pause, then, "What do you plan on doing about the—about Lydia?"

"I don't plan on doing anything about her. She's part of this whether any of us like it or not, so that means she gets to decide what she does."

"That's not what I meant. Peter's going to be at his strongest under the full moon. He'll either make a play for the Argents or he'll make some new effort to find me, maybe both. Either way, his plans probably include her in some way. And that's not even taking Jackson into account."

"He was back in school today. He looked fine."

"Scott looked fine too."

Stiles scoffed. "Better than fine, but Jackson's got the whole 'ooh, look at me, I'm physically perfect' thing going on to confuse the issue."

Dead silence.

"What? Oh, c'mon, don't pretend you didn't notice. Nobody's _that_ straight."

More dead silence, which Derek finally broke. "Lydia's awake. You should probably take her home."

She should have known he'd notice her elevated heart rate. Lydia sat up. "If you know I'm awake, do me the basic courtesy of not speaking about me in the third person."

Derek ducked his head and looked away, but Stiles gave her a delighted grin. "Hey! How are you feeling?"

"Cold, sore, and hungry." She grimaced as she struggled to her feet. Stiles belatedly jumped to offer his hand, but she ignored it. Speaking to Derek, she asked, "Where do you keep your clothes?"

Still not meeting her gaze, he answered, "In my closet, at my house."

She gaped in disbelief. "You mean at your extra-large charcoal briquette?"

"It's my family's house," he said, confused, like she should understand his need to live in an incinerated mausoleum.

Lydia turned to Stiles, but he lifted his hands in equal helplessness.

"Well. Okay." Trying to gather her thoughts, she said, "Obviously it would be a really stupid risk to go back there, so I'll just have to get new clothes for you. What do you wear? Thirty-two waist, thirty-four inseam?"

"You can't buy me clothes," Derek said.

"Mm. Have a good night!" Gathering her bags, she headed up the stairs, concentrating on projecting vivaciousness. Stiles darted ahead of her so that he could hold the door open.

Once they were in the Jeep and he started the engine, Stiles said, "You're really feeling terrible, aren't you."

Lydia waited till they turned the corner to reply. "Yes, but I can't let him see that. It's hard enough for him to trust me, and if he thinks I'm weak I'm afraid he'll dump me for my own good."

Switching on the windshield wipers as rain began to pour, Stiles said, "But he needs all the input he can get. He's a shortsighted moron if he cuts himself from someone as smart as you."

She raised her eyebrows.

He laughed. "Point taken."

Lydia watched the road as they crossed into old downtown. "I need coffee. Can you see if that place is open?"

He obeyed, turning onto the narrow street she indicated. "The lights are on. Dude, that person just left their car running in the middle of the road and we're right next to the warehouse district still—"

Lydia reached for the wheel and jerked it to the side before he could sideswipe another parked car. "Pay attention. You need caffeine too; you're losing focus."

"Yeah, the Adderall usually starts to wear off by now."He parallel parked in front of the empty, running vehicle. "I seriously can't believe that guy just left his car like that."

"If he gets it stolen, I guess he deserves it." She dug around in her purse for a credit card. "Here. I'll have a skinny latte."

He didn't take the card. "You're not coming in?"

Lydia gasped at the idea. "In this rain? These boots are suede!" Even her recently discovered aversion to being left alone in the car couldn't make her ruin five hundred dollar shoes.

"Right. Stupid question." Stiles opened the door.

A man's voice, shouting, "Isaac!" floated from the alley across the street.

Even though the downpour had already plastered his shirt to his chest, Stiles raised a hand to shield his eyes, peering in the direction of the voice.

"What are you doing?" Lydia leaned over the seat, looking the same way even though she wasn't interested. "They'll close soon."

"Isaac!" the man called again.

"Wait here." Stiles swung the door shut again and crossed the road with tentative steps.

Just as he reached the alley, a man dashed past him, sprinting flat-out for the still-running car and fumbling with the handle. Stiles stumbled back. A shadow slipped out of the alley, bounding with inhuman speed after the stranger. It swiped with one hand at Stiles' neck. He staggered, and then collapsed as if the motion had robbed his body of its bones.

Lydia shrieked and scrambled for her phone, then stared at it for a second, trying to figure out if she should call 911 or Scott. Before she could decide, the shadow thing crouched back on its tail—it had a _tail_ —and ripped off the stranger's driver side door. It flew across the street, narrowly avoiding Stiles. The creature flung itself into the car. Blood spattered on the windows seconds later.

Lydia's throat hurt from screaming, but she didn't think there was anything else she could do.

The shadow creature crept from the car, and then leaped on the hood of Stiles' Jeep.

Its proximity stole Lydia's breath. She froze, meeting the yellow-eyed gaze and automatically cataloguing the dark scaled hide, flattened nose, and multiple rows of needle-shaped teeth. Stupid to waste time doing that when she was about to die.

It hissed at her.

She had time to think, _I'm sorry, Mom,_ before it jumped impossibly high onto the nearest rooftop.

Forcing herself to count to sixty, she waited for her heartbeat to slow and for some assurance the lizard man was gone to develop. When a full minute had passed, she decided it probably wouldn't get much better and stepped out into the rain. One hand raised to shield the dead stranger's car from her view, she stumbled to Stiles, begging, "Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay," until she fell to her knees next to him.

"I'm all right," he assured her, in a weird muffled voice.

"If you're all right, then why are you not moving?" she screeched. "What the fuck is this cut on your neck? And why are you half-suffocating in a puddle?"

"I can't move from the neck down but I guess my lungs are okay."

"Shit, shit shit shit," Lydia sobbed, pushing him onto his back. "Oh my God, I thought you were dead, I thought we were both dead, that poor man _is_ dead, Stiles, I don't know what to do!"

True to form, he was completely unruffled in the face of disaster. "Call my dad, and then call Scott. My phone's in my pocket."

The phone proved resilient even thoroughly soaked. Her call with the sheriff was coherent, but as soon as she heard Scott's voice the only thing she could think was _what if I'd had to call him because Stiles was dead?_ and then she lost what little of her composure she'd managed to scrape together. He seemed to understand enough, though.

By the time she hung up, people had come out of the coffee house and someone was holding an umbrella over Stiles and her. A barista offered coffee or tea. She took the tea.

"One thing's for certain," she told Stiles. "Nobody is ever leaving me to wait in the car again."

"Fair enough," he agreed.

Wetness crept across her toes. Lydia scowled. "And dammit! My boots are _destroyed._ That homicidal reptile owes me a trip to Barney's."


	5. False Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't enough that she'd been roped into their mythological world against her will; now she had to be a hero even when it didn't benefit her in any way?
> 
> This was all utter bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FatedFeathers for prereading this chapter! Sorry for the wait, guys -- my semester started at the end of August and so I've been finding my balance again. I'll make it up to you with another chapter very soon. Like, within seven days soon. :-)

The instant Lydia got home, her mother pounced.

"Where have you _been_? Why is your room wrecked? Why didn't you answer my texts? You didn't even leave a note and... Oh my God, you're soaked! Is this that Stilinski boy's fault? I'm calling his father. An elected official's child should be—"

"No, Mom." She wanted to be angry about the assumption, but the memory of how terrible she'd felt when she thought her mom was going to find out she was dead tempered her tongue. "Stiles actually was attacked tonight. Because of me."

"What?" Mrs. Martin gaped for a second, and then put her arm around Lydia's shoulders, leading her toward the kitchen. "Let me get you some hot chocolate and you can tell me about it."

Once they were settled at the island, Lydia told what she could, but she was starting to sympathize with Stiles and Scott's default policy of silence. What could she say that wouldn't result in her mother either believing it and sending her to Iowa to visit her great-grandma, or not believing it and putting her on a seventy-two hour hold? She went with the story Stiles and she had agreed on: it was dark and they couldn't see much. The sheriff hadn't seemed convinced, but he couldn't prove anything, plus he was obviously worried sick about his son.

When she finished, her mom asked, "And Stiles still isn't able to move?"

Lydia shook her head, misery leaking into her reply. "They had to take him to the hospital. A detective gave me a ride home."

"Sweetie, you wanted coffee. That doesn't make you responsible for his condition." Mrs. Martin patted her hand. "You need a shower and a good night's rest. Would you like me to call the hospital and get an update on him while you get ready?"

"Yes please." Lydia wanted to argue with her mom's assessment of the situation, but she was too tired, so she trudged up to her room and pulled out the first negligee she found in her nightwear drawer. After sleeping on dusty concrete, she needed to wash up anyway. With a twist of guilt in her stomach, she saw her mother had cleaned up the mess they'd left behind.

She never seemed to be able to hear him coming. One moment she was alone in the bathroom, blindly searching for a towel with one hand extended past the shower curtain, and the next someone had thrust the terrycloth against her palm. Clenching her teeth against a shriek, she hurriedly wrapped the towel around her and jerked the curtain back.

"Would it do me any good to lock bathroom doors, or do werewolf claws open them regardless?"

Peter spared a glance and smile before returning his attention to her phone. He spoke in an undertone. "I can't figure out your screen's lock code, but I'm positive a glimpse of your phone logs would be extremely enlightening."

Lydia had no doubt he was keeping one ear out for any intrusion. Fear for her mother's safety made her follow his example, pitching her voice low. "I'd be happy to let you look, if you'd ask." She'd already deleted all of the texts and calls that could have told him anything, anyway.

He paused and turned his attention to her. "You would. Hmm. Interesting. Why so cooperative, I wonder?"

Staring at her toes, she thought about what answer she could give that he wouldn't be able to see through immediately. "I'm worried about my mom."

"Smart girl. You're safe for the moment, but she's not. Keep that in mind."

Lydia wondered what his definition of safe was.

Peter seemed to take her silence as agreement. Running one strand of her hair between his fingers, he mused, "You'd almost expect it to burn."

Mouth dry, she managed to say, "I'd think you'd be tired of fire."

"Only the kind other people set." He set the phone down on the counter. "Well. I don't think I'll get anything from that after all. Why do you smell like fear? Don't tell me you're scared of _me_. You'll hurt my feelings."

"I watched a man get killed tonight," Lydia snapped, tightening the towel in spite of the feeling that he could see right through it.

"Really?" He shook his head and turned to go. "Beacon Hills just isn't what it used to be."

"Wait."Reaching for his hand, she managed to grab the sleeve of his leather jacket instead.

Peter lifted his eyebrows. "Anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Do you know anything about something that looks like a huge lizard and would want to kill a man but not eat him?" To her frustration, she started to shake from head to toe as she said the words. The very last thing she should be doing was showing weakness in front of Peter Hale, of all people, but she couldn't help it. "Something with yellow eyes?"

His expression changed, morphing into watchfulness. "It really scared you, didn't it?" She still held his sleeve; his hand turned to grasp her wrist.

The clasp of his fingers felt far too right. "Obviously," she snapped, pulling away from him. "Anything that can slice a man like a Salad Shooter is worth a little caution at the very least."

"I agree." He stared at nothing, blank-faced, before focusing on her again. "You've been helpful as ever, Lydia. Thank you."

"My pleasure," she replied, unable to keep the sour note from the words, but he only laughed.

"It will be." He ducked his head to kiss her. "Goodnight, sweetheart." She blinked, and the door stood open, letting the steam twist out after his departure.

"Lydia? They didn't have any updates on Stiles' progress yet," her mother called up the stairs.

The kiss had seared Lydia's lips, but she forced them to move anyway. "All right."

The imprint of Peter's mouth refused to fade all through her bedtime rituals. It still ached like a brand even when she settled under the comforter she'd retrieved from the guest room. At least his visit had one positive side effect: she was certain now that the blue-eyed boy of her dreams was the werewolf who'd bitten her.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," her mother said from the doorway, hand on the light switch.

Lydia shuddered at the echo of Peter's words. "Goodnight, Mom."

Alone in the dark, she stared at the ceiling, too afraid of nightmare visits to sleep. Half an hour passed. Giving up, she picked up her phone from where it lay on the bed next to her and texted Stiles. _Still paralyzed?_

A few seconds passed, and then her screen lit up. _I just got out of the hospital. The toxin or whatever it was wore off and everything's okay._

Another message appeared while she was still reading. _Assuming it doesn't give me cancer._

 _Or erectile dysfunction,_ Lydia thought about texting back, but decided against it. Too flirty for someone who might actually be long-term friendship material. She didn't have many friends. Instead, she said, _I can't sleep. How do you handle all of this without losing your mind?_

A long pause. _Let me know if you figure it out._

Lydia set the phone back down and pulled the comforter over her head. A sudden longing for Derek, surprising in its intensity, overwhelmed her. When she was with him, she hadn't dreamed of Peter. Maybe it was because Derek was part of Peter's pack, so she was where Peter wanted her to be when she stayed with Derek. Or maybe it was because he had at least half an idea of what was going on. Either way, she wanted more than anything else to return to the warehouse, but her mom might put her under lock and key if she tried to leave again. Plus, she had to go to school in the morning.

She shivered away all night long instead, jerking herself awake every time her eyelids drifted shut.

It took about a pound of concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes in the morning, but she thought she pulled it off. When she set foot into the school, though, everyone turned and stared.

She rushed to the bathroom to examine her reflection. Everything looked fine. It wasn't until she sat down in class that she remembered she'd been attacked by an "animal" on the lacrosse field. No wonder they were all freaked out.

In chemistry class, Stiles texted her while the teacher's back was turned. _Did you hear about Isaac Lahey?_

 _Who?_ she texted back. Mr. Harris turned around and she whipped her phone under her desk.

Her phone vibrated again almost immediately. Before she could check it, Sheriff Stilinski appeared at the door. "Excuse me; could we talk to Jackson Whittemore?"

Mr. Harris' face twisted. Lydia cataloged that for future reference. He _really_ didn't like the sheriff for some reason. "Of course."

Jackson shrugged at Danny and gathered up his things to follow the sheriff out of the classroom.

Once the door closed, Lydia angled her phone so she could read the screen. _Are you serious? He's been in our class since middle school! Anyway, that was his dad who got killed by the thing._

Whipping her head around to stare at him in shock, she saw him nodding solemnly. All she could say was, _OMG WTF?!_

He looked like he was going to text a reply, but Mr. Harris said, "Mr. Stiles. Is that a cell phone I see?"

For once, Stiles had nothing to say. "I—uh—"

"I thought so. Pack your bag and go to the principal's office. Maybe you and your father can bond while you're there, over your mutual lack of respect for educators."

Oddly, Stiles didn't seem to be upset. He left without a murmur of protest, although Lydia felt like speaking up for him.

Once the bell rang, Scott followed her out of the classroom. "Hey, Lydia!"

"Yes?" She didn't bother to slow down.

He caught up easily, of course. "Are you okay?"

The question stopped Lydia in her tracks. Part of her wanted to snap at him that duh, of course she wasn't okay, how _could_ she be, under the circumstances, but the other part remembered how he'd been dealing with this for much longer and he could still spare a minute to ask the question. That thought wrung a civil reply out of her. "I'm as well as can be expected, thank you. Do you know anything about the lizard?"

"Just what you and Stiles said. I'm going to ask Dr. Deaton about it at work this afternoon, though."

Opening her locker door, Lydia said, "I hope he knows something. And I hope you ask him how he knows what he does."

"Yeah, I will, but I don't think he'll tell me."

Stiles banged into the locker next to them and started talking without preamble. "So we have a major problem. My dad's arrested Isaac for killing Mr. Lahey."

Scott straightened. "What?"

"Why?" Lydia asked.

"He went to the Laheys' house after they moved the body and there was this freezer in the basement and..." Cutting himself off, he looked around and drew closer to the other two, dropping his volume. "It looks like Mr. Lahey used to lock Isaac in it. There were scratch marks on the inside. That's motive."

Scott looked sick. "But he didn't do it."

"Right now the sheriff has nothing," Lydia said, pushing away the horror. It wouldn't help Isaac, whoever the hell he was, one bit. "He's got to go with the person who has motive, even if it's really unlikely."

"When I was at the principal's office, I heard Jackson talking to my dad." All of the customary fun had drained from Stiles' face. "Jackson said he used to see Mr. Lahey beating Isaac."

Lydia nodded, accepting, but Scott exclaimed, "What? He saw? And he didn't do _anything_?"

When Stiles shook his head, Lydia realized that they both were disgusted by Jackson's inaction. "It's not as if he could interfere with family matters. What should he have done?"

They looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Called the cops. Told a teacher. Talked to Isaac—I mean, he's on the lacrosse team, we see him all the time. About seven different things other than doing nothing," Scott told her, for the first time speaking to her as if she were the bad guy.

Chastened, she looked away under the pretense of getting out the books for her next class.

"Anyway, so he's in jail, and it's Lydia's and my fault, and we have to get him out."

Lydia spun to glare at them both. "It is so not my fault."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe not our _fault_ , but because we didn't tell the truth Isaac is my dad's only suspect."

"Were we supposed to tell your dad that a lizard killed that man?" Slamming her door closed, she started walking away. "Do what you want, but don't blame me."

"No, that's not what I mean!" Stiles called after her.

She kept walking, struggling to keep her indignation from turning into more stupid, ineffective tears. It wasn't enough that she'd been roped into their mythological world against her will; now she had to be a hero even when it didn't benefit her in any way?

This was all utter bullshit.

At lunch, she almost walked into the cafeteria before she remembered that she didn't sit with Jackson anymore, Allison was still out of town, and she was too pissed off at Stiles and Scott to want to sit with them. The library was her usual fallback for situations like these, but the sunshine outside beckoned.

Five minutes later, Lydia leaned back on the bench near the front parking lot and smiled, eyes closed. _That_ was better.

A rustling noise nearby made her frown. Looking around, she saw a probably-homeless man searching through a trash can. He gave her a furtive glance but didn't seem inclined to bother her. Still, she gathered up her purse and books with a disappointed sigh. No point in being alone with an indigent and risking yet another assault, however unlikely.

"Got any spare cash?" he called as she headed back inside.

She almost continued without speaking, but the memory of the looks on Stiles and Scott's faces spurred her to turn around. "I do, actually."

He shuffled up, too close, sniffing every couple of steps, while she opened her purse and found what little money she carried. "Thanks," he said, taking it with an unnecessarily lingering stroke of her hand.

Even though she dug out her hand sanitizer the second she walked inside, she still _hmph_ ed with vindication. She wasn't a terrible person. She _wasn't_.

Stiles and Scott were standing in front of her before she could upend the bottle into her palm.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked.

She stepped back. "I was sitting outside; why do you care?"

He didn't answer, just grabbed her hand and sniffed. For an unsettling instant, his irises lit.

"Scott?" Stiles said, but the front door stood open before he finished speaking.

The bell rang while Lydia and Stiles stared at the front walk, now deserted. She started for her next class. He grabbed her elbow and then let go when she gave him an astonished glance. "Sorry, it's just—it's not your fault, okay? I didn't mean it like I said it, I just say things the wrong way because my mouth can't keep up with how fast I'm thinking and then I don't realize I've fucked up till it's over."

 _ADHD_ , she reminded herself. Impulse control issues came with the territory. If she was going to be friends with him she'd just have to deal with it. At least it would be easier than dealing with Jackson's unremitting insecurity. "It isn't your fault either, Stiles. You and Scott can't save everybody."

"I know," he said, sounding miserable, "but we know so much more than most people... it kind of seems like we _should_."

"Hey, look who's back!"

Lydia and Stiles turned toward Scott's voice. Allison held his hand as they walked toward the other two. She offered a taut smile, but Lydia noticed the deep circles under her eyes and the careless way she'd put together her outfit. "My parents finally stopped freaking out enough to let me come home."

 _She knows,_ Lydia realized. Maybe not everything, but she had learned something about what her parents did now. Who knew, maybe good old Aunt Kate had taken her north for some girly bonding over the best techniques for lupine torture or which instrument of death could inflict the most pain before she put the shapeshifter out of its misery. Bitch.

"Are you all right?" Allison asked her. "Your face is getting red."

With a start, Lydia unclenched her fists and put on her usual bright-eyed expression. "Of course! It's great you're back."

"It's _awesome_ ," Scott said, pulling Allison closer and nuzzling her neck. Her smile softened into something more genuine, and she lifted one hand to caress his hair.

"Ugh," Stiles muttered. Lydia couldn't have agreed more. Watching them felt like a hammer smacking into the barely-recovering bruise of her breakup with Jackson. "See you guys."

"Hey, wait, Lydia!" The strain returned to Allison's face. "Uh, can you come over and hang out tonight? I really need to talk to you."

Lydia couldn't think of anything she wanted less than to visit the Argents. "Don't you want to celebrate your reunion with Scott?"

"I'm actually busy," Scott said. "Work and stuff."

Oh, right, the full moon thing. "Then why don't you come over to my place, Allison? I have some shopping I need to do this afternoon, if you want to go with me."

"Macy's it is," Allison replied.

If she got any more tense her shoulders would touch her ears. This should be a fun little outing.

Lydia dumped bags full of clothes for Derek—which she'd explained as presents for her dad—on her bedroom floor. Allison had spent the past three hours not talking about herself. Maybe it was time to press. "So, how was wherever you went? Seattle? Portland?"

"It was cold and rainy. Not much different from here." Allison toyed with Prada's ears, wrapping a ponytail holder around both of them to hold them together. "There, now you're perky."

Prada seemed to have no objection to perkiness. He settled into a contented lump on Allison's lap.

Lydia gave him the stink-eye. "Why is he so much nicer to everyone but me?"

"He knows you love him, so he saves his worst behavior for you. Like kids and parents." Absently fluffing Prada's tail, Allison asked, "Do you think you're completely recovered?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine."Lydia busied herself sorting between pants and shirts to have an excuse to avoid Allison's eyes.

"Pretty awful coincidence, you getting attacked by that animal and then having to see a murder."

"Beacon Hills isn't what it used to be." And since when had Peter's words started coming out of her mouth?

Allison's voice sounded stilted, like she was reading from a bad script. "Still, you must feel totally freaked out. Like, I'd understand if you just wanted to, I don't know, run away screaming."

"Really?" Lydia exclaimed, as she finally realized where this was going. The Argents thought she was a werewolf. No wonder Allison looked like _she_ wanted to run screaming. Her family was really a piece of dysfunctional work, sending their daughter in to spy on one of maybe three friends she'd made since moving to Beacon Hills. Thank goodness the days were still short so neither of them had to wait to put an end to this charade. Striding to the window, Lydia yanked open the curtains and threw up the pane for good measure. The clouds cleared to show the full moon, bright in the sky. She didn't bother giving her voice any inflection. "Wow, the moon is really beautiful tonight." _See? No fangs, no inconvenient sideburns, no glow-in-the-dark eyes._

She turned back to Allison, expecting to see relief there, but instead she read confusion on the pretty features. Before she could ask what was wrong, Allison's eyes widened. Pointing to Lydia's arm, she said, "Your cut's bleeding."

Lydia shook her head, lifting her hand to examine the streams oozing down her fingers. "It just never stops."

She let Allison stay another hour for good measure, sitting through an awkward dinner with her mother during which Mrs. Martin kept checking her phone, and then sent her home with a few tactful yawns. As soon as the Mazda turned the corner, Lydia Googled _what do I do if I think a car is following me?_

Several right turns and a couple of stops on the shoulder of the freeway later, Lydia felt pretty certain she must have shaken whatever tail the Argents might have put on her, but she still worried about Allison having planted a GPS locator on her car. As soon as she found a well-lit parking lot with open businesses, she pulled in.

"This is my ridiculous life now," she complained to herself in a whisper, scrolling through her contacts to find Stiles' number. "Next up: tinfoil hats for everyone in the pack!"

Stiles picked up on the first ring. "Lydia?"

"Do you know how to figure out if a GPS locator is on your car? Like, one that someone trying to track you might have put on it?"

"Yeah, I actually check the Jeep every time I go out."

She waited for him to laugh, but then he didn't, and then she felt like shooting an Argent. "Talk me through it?"

The wheel well check ruined her tights, so she had to strip them off in the car, but eventually she felt it was safe to drive back to the warehouse. Hopefully agreeing to meet Scott there had kept Derek in the same place.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she heard Scott and Derek, not snarling or howling as she'd expected, but instead holding a conversation like they weren't two werewolves under a full moon. Or, rather, having an argument like they weren't two people over the age of ten.

"You tell her to leave."

"No, you do it. You know her better."

"Exactly, which is why I'm telling you that you have to do it."

Idiots. "I'm not leaving." Descending the stairs, she hefted the bags she'd brought with her. "I didn't come empty-handed, at least."

"It's really not safe for you to be here," Scott said, but then he sniffed. "Dude, did you bring McDonald's?"

"A bag full of Quarter Pounders, just for you. Well, and for Mr. I'd-Rather-Suck-On-Lemons over there."

Scott practically tore the bag from her grasp. Derek didn't respond to the insult, just shook his head and walked away.

"Come back here and see if these will fit," Lydia ordered, holding out the clothes.

He kept moving in the opposite direction.

"Fine. I guess you don't want to hear what your uncle had to say."

Derek stopped dead in his tracks. Lydia held her breath, waiting, until he turned around. "Peter talked to you?"

"I'm not saying another word until you at least hold these shirts up against your front so I can see if I eyeballed it well enough."

He stalked back and stood toe-to-toe with her. "We're talking about matters of life and death here, and you want to blackmail me into a modeling session?"

She tilted her head to an angle that she hoped said _don't mess with me_ and hardened her voice _._ "Just because at least five people want you dead doesn't mean you have to look like a Chippendales escapee while you're eluding them."

Scott snorted, but turned it into a cough when Derek glared at him.

Lydia shoved the bags against his chest, resisting the urge to let her hands linger on bare skin. "Take these and stop being such a baby."


	6. ...or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you honestly think I can’t handle one lone male? He’s not shifting, so I’m in no danger at all. Go on, leave us. Go so far that you can’t hear us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHAI. Have you checked the warnings/tags lately? You should check them. Just to be sure. Before you read this.
> 
> I don't own Teen Wolf.
> 
> Kisses to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for being the people to point out when I just left jizz on a character's stomach.

After another moment's hesitation, Derek took the bags and dropped them to the floor, removing a polo to pull over his head. "There. Happy? Now tell me what he said. And Scott told me that you and Stiles saw some strange animal murder a man?"

Deciding she'd take what she could get, Lydia sat down and related everything to him. The lizard-man, Isaac Lahey, Peter, and the Argents' suspicions. By the time she finished, he had joined her on the floor, absentmindedly accepted a burger from Scott, and eaten half.

Derek finished the burger and said, "Did it occur to you guys that maybe the lizard thing _is_ Isaac, just in a different form?"

Lydia jerked back at the thought. Scott looked pensive. "No, it never did," she answered, considering it. "I guess if werewolves are real, werelizards could be real too, though." She brightened. "In that case, they've got the right man! No more guilt."

"I don't think so," Scott said. "I know him, a little. He's quiet."

"Nice guy? Keeps to himself?" Derek said, drier than Death Valley.

Lydia laughed, but Scott didn't seem to get it. "He's, I don't know, meek. Not a killer."

Derek seemed about to add something, but Lydia peered at his shirt and said, "Oh my God. You haven't shifted yet."

He looked down at the spreading black stains on the fabric, and then took it off again. "I told you not to make me wear this."

Lydia waved that concern away. "I'm not upset about the shirt, I'm upset about the fact that Dr. Deaton said you needed to shift under a full moon to get rid of those wounds— _maybe_ get rid of them—and you haven't done it."

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Scott needed me to stay human."

"No, I don't," Scott contradicted, giving him an incredulous look.

Lydia scoffed. "Yes, clearly Scott's a ravenous beast, out of control and dangerous."

Derek got up and paced around in a circle. "It's not safe. Peter might hear me howl or something."

"Or something," Scott repeated in disbelief. "You just don't want to do it. Why not?"

"Don't be an idiot," Derek growled. "It's a horrible idea for me to shift right now."

Clearly Scott didn't understand his refusal. "What, it's a horrible idea for you to heal? Look, I get that you think you need to do everything all by yourself forever, but how are you gonna do that if you're bleeding that shit everywhere?"

Lydia raised her eyebrows at his aggressive tone, but it was a fair question. Derek didn't seem to agree with her on that point, though. "I'll do it the way I've always done it."

Scott shot to his feet. "Anger, again? Dude, who's being an idiot now? Is anger going to keep that mountain ash shit from spreading? You have to shift."

"No."

"Anger?" Lydia echoed. Derek glared at Scott, jaw set in a stubborn line.

Scott glared right back. "Everybody needs an anchor to keep them human-minded and control the shifting, especially at the full moon. Every-werewolf-body, I mean. Derek's is anger. Mine is—"

"Allison," she finished for him. "Right. Okay. Wait. If anger is your anchor, Derek, then are you never allowed to be happy or you'll lose control?"

He didn't answer. Maybe the full moon was affecting Scott more than he'd hoped, because his voice had gone rough when he spoke again. "That can't be right. He's just being stubborn. Stop acting like such a dumbass and _shift_!"

Derek bared his teeth and snarled. "Fuck you!" They squared off, faces inches from each other's.

Too much testosterone in a room made for absolutely no progress. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Lydia stepped between them. "That's _enough_ , both of you!"

She half-expected them to move her out of the way and start fighting, but instead Scott nodded, straightening from his crouch, and Derek turned his face away, walking to a corner behind her as if to give her space.

With that, something clicked in Lydia's brain. He was acting exactly like Prada did with Lydia's dad. Mr. Martin accepted no bullshit from any animal and Prada knew he was in charge.

_My sister was my Alpha._

"Scott," she said, thoughts racing, "I need you to leave us alone."

Scott looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "That's not safe. I wasn't joking when I told you so before."

"Please." Lydia projected every ounce of confidence she possessed, and some she didn't, in the smile she directed his way. "Do you honestly think _I_ can't handle one lone male? He's not shifting, so I'm in no danger at all. Go on, leave us. Go so far that you can't hear us." Inspiration struck. "Allison looked really upset tonight. I bet she could use someone to talk to."

Mentioning Allison was all it took. Scott gave Lydia one last questioning glance, and, at a firm jerk of her chin, bounded up the stairs.

Once she had counted out a couple of minutes in her head and could be reasonably sure Scott wasn't listening, she walked to Derek's corner. His chest lifted and fell too rapidly with each shallow breath, and he edged back the closer she got, until he hit the wall and couldn't move any farther.

Trying to ignore the ridiculous aspect of a man his size being cowed by someone as small as she, Lydia leveled her gaze at him and said, "Tell me." For some reason, Derek seemed ashamed, looking at his feet instead of her. Not very helpful, but she could understand why he would hate to be at more of a disadvantage. Still, they really needed to get him into fighting shape, especially if failing to transform now could lead to the wounds worsening and getting even more painful before the next full moon. "You have to."

"No."

"If you don't you're putting all of us at risk, especially yourself."

The words burst from him in an explosion of frustration. "I can't, okay!" Turning away from her, he said, "It just hurts too much. I can't force it."

"The pain's what's keeping you from changing?" At his reluctant nod, Lydia folded her lips in, thinking. If pain was the stumbling block... "Ugh. I'm so tired I can barely think. I need help." Maybe the dead blood thing was interfering with her ability to reason, because it seemed like a problem as simple as pain should have an equally simple solution, but it wasn't as if they could feed him a bottle of Tylenol with the amount of liver damage he had experienced. Backing off, she retrieved her phone from her purse and texted Stiles. _What's the opposite of pain?_

His reply came back after an unusually long wait. _Is this a trick question?_

Lydia rolled her eyes. _No._

_Pleasure. Why does that word look so dirty?_

_It's a mystery._ Putting the phone down, she gazed at Derek's back in speculation. Pleasure.

Maybe it was time to take one for the team?

Then again, considering that Derek seemed to consider even eating an inconvenient intrusion on his scheduled brooding, Lydia wasn't certain how exactly to go about convincing him that he would have to feel good to do what he needed to do. Maybe more conventional methods first. "Would narcotics work?"

He heaved a sigh. "No. The drugs burn off too quickly to be effective."

She texted Stiles again. _What does Scott do when he's hurt?_

_Usually, heals before he's finished bitching about it. Though that doesn't stop him. ;)_

Well, that wasn't helpful either.

Her phone buzzed with another message. _I guess comfort is another opposite of pain? Are you studying for something or is this about Derek?_

Lydia put the phone down and moved back to Derek's side. He still hadn't left his corner, stubbornly keeping to his feet. She could see it cost him. Even though she was so exasperated with him she could have screamed, she tempered her tone to brisk efficiency. "At the very least, you need to keep them clean. Let's go get a shower for you."

He didn't refuse, but he didn't agree, either. He didn't do anything.

"Let's get this over with. I have homework." Lydia didn't want to think about how this might come back to bite her on the ass, but she focused on projecting unmitigated assurance that he would obey her. "Derek, get in the car _._ " For a second, she thought he would continue to ignore the order, but then he waved his hand in an oddly petulant motion and started for the stairs. Lydia gathered up her purse, a bag, and keys and followed, passing him before they got to the door.

He settled in the passenger seat, making the car look small with the breadth of his shoulders. Lydia turned the key in the ignition and headed back toward the highway, calculating her credit card's balance in her head and trying not to picture her father's face when he got the statement. Maybe she _should_ get him a present after all.

Ten minutes later, Derek surprised her by breaking the silence. "Where are we going?"

She kept her eyes on the road. "A motel, of course. We'll return you to your lair later, but it's not as if you can really get clean at a truck stop. I'd take you to a hotel but your clothing allergy is getting in the way of my usual standards."

"You can't pay for a motel room for me."

"Mm." She turned into a parking lot. "This one looks promising. I have to go in to get the key, but I swear to God if you try to leave while I'm in there I'll get Scott to hunt you down." Without bothering to wait for an answer that probably wouldn't come, she pulled into the circle in front of the doors and went inside. Ten minutes later, she came out with a keycard and a renewed sense of purpose. To her relief, Derek hadn't moved.

"I got first floor," she told him. "It's on the side facing away from the road, at least, so hopefully a little less noisy. I figured being so close to the highway has to be painful for you." _No wonder your home was out in the middle of the woods,_ she nearly added, but then thought that might cause a different sort of pain.

"Being around this many people is always—" He cut himself off, most likely because he'd been about to admit to discomfort, and that was against Derek Hale's Rules for Appearing Invincible. Ugh.

She responded to the unspoken thought anyway. "We don't have to stay here all night. Just long enough to clean those wounds." There was no way she could stay all night, regardless. Her mother would lose her mind and actually book the flight to Iowa.

Once they were in the room, he trudged directly to the bathroom without her having to order him, which Lydia considered progress. She sat at the table next to the window and looked outside. The hotel backed up to a residential neighborhood, full of trees and dark houses. The moon shone down sporadically whenever the clouds cleared enough to show its face.

She kept expecting to see a monster's red eyes glowing at her from the night.

All the vehicular misdirection in the world couldn't work against Peter's tracking skills. Maybe he'd decided to go back to his family's house, or maybe he'd gone after the Argents. Or maybe he was just waiting for the right moment to burst through the window and grab Derek by the nape of the neck like an errant puppy before dragging him back to his proper—

A sneeze, thunderous in its intensity, echoed through the room. Lydia shrieked and almost fell to the floor in shock. A second explosion of sound, followed by a third, had her on her feet and staring at the bathroom door. Four sneezes. Five. "Do you mind?" she called. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"This soap stinks like a bouquet of flowers grown in a chemical dump."

Translation: it tickled his nose. For some reason, the realization made Lydia smile. "Werewolf smell powers aren't really a marketing concern for them, I guess." While the water was still running, she opened the door and dropped in the bag she'd brought. "Clothes are on the floor."

"I'll just stain them again," he warned, betraying no surprise that she'd basically walked in on him in the shower.

Hmm. If he wasn't bothered, then maybe she should take a quick look. For the sake of diagnosis. "Let me see."

Wrenching the water off with a squeak of the faucet, he stepped out with a towel already wrapped around his waist. What a killjoy. The sight of the wounds, most of which had healed over for the moment, distracted her from her disappointment. "Is that dead blood, like mine?"

Gazing down at the injuries, he said, "No. It's mountain ash. I think my body's trying to get rid of it like it would a splinter, but there's too much."

"Aren't we the oozy pair. It isn't nearly as bad as mine, though."And now she was just wasting time. She knew what she had to do, she just didn't want to admit it, but of course this entire expedition had been about getting him presentable enough to go ahead. "That's it. We're going to have to get you to stop feeling too much pain to transform." She turned and presented her back to him. "Unzip me."

She could practically feel the shock rolling off of him and into her.

When he didn't move, she gave him an impatient glance over her shoulder, gathering her hair to one side. "We've wasted enough time, Derek. Unzip my dress. It's got a hook at the top, by the way."

In the full-length mirror on the open closet door opposite, she could see his jaw clench as he swallowed. "No," he ground out. "Not on a full moon."

"Oh, so you've considered it for the other phases?"

His gaze flew up from her ass to meet hers in the reflection, but he didn't answer.

"We've talked this into the ground. There's no other way." Truthfully, she wished she could think of one. Gorgeous as Derek was, she still wasn't ready for this. Jackson hadn't been her first, but he'd been her longest-term, and even though she was okay with their breakup now, her feelings hadn't quite caught up with that reality. "The alternative isn't worth discussing, so come over here and help me."

He remained motionless.

With an irritated _tsk_ , Lydia twisted enough to grab his hand and lift it, unresisting, to the closure. "Unzip. My. Dress."

It took another long moment, but finally she felt the neckline loosen as the hook slipped free of its loop. The teeth of the zipper parted with agonizing slowness. She shivered from the draft hitting her back and tried to read Derek's expression in the mirror with little success. The dress slipped from her shoulders. Holding it to her chest, she walked out to the bedroom. "Come on."

At least this time, she didn't have to repeat herself. She could hear his footsteps padding behind her.

Lydia was absolutely confident of two things. One was her mind's ability to outperform anyone else in her school in the academic arena. The other was her body's ability to inspire lust. Accordingly, she shimmied free of the dress and sat on the corner of the bed, clad only in matching underwear and her heels, without a shred of self-doubt. Judging by the death grip Derek had on the hem of his towel, her self-assurance hadn't been misplaced.

Now what to say? He was just standing there as if his feet had fused with the faded carpet beneath them. Lydia reached for the hand holding the towel together, but he stopped her with the other and then rocked back on his heels, shoulders hunched. "This is illegal."

Right, because his _entire life_ wasn't spent outside the law. Talk about grasping at straws. Rising to her feet once more, Lydia slid her palm up, over his chest, avoiding the hurt parts, all the way to the back of his neck. "Those laws only apply to humans." When she tugged, he submitted, letting her guide his mouth down to hers.

Lydia braced herself to coax a response from him, but the instant their lips touched, he inhaled sharply and kissed her so hard that she had to clutch his shoulders to keep from losing her balance. Good thing she'd kept the heels on or her neck would have been hurting already. Derek dug his fingers into her waist and jerked her close, opening his mouth over hers. Ignoring the growing ache in the vicinity of her heart—this was _not_ the time to get emo, she refused to do it—she nipped his bottom lip.

She barely had time to think _that might have been a mistake_ before she found herself face down on the bed with an inhuman growl vibrating against her ear. Deja vu. He was so much bigger than she that his body covered every inch of hers. Lydia took a deep breath, quelling the automatic surge of fear that wanted to swamp her. His erection was pressed to her ass, so this could count as moving in the right direction.

Focusing on keeping her voice even, she said, "I can't do much if you won't let me move." Then again, if the goal was to get him in touch with his animal side, maybe she needed to stay still.

He didn't give her any space. She realized then that the reason she was shaking wasn't due to her own trembling. Was he afraid of hurting her, or—

Pushing up gained her an inch or two of space, enough that she could work her way onto her back and face him. What she saw gave her pause. He wasn't afraid of her, or of hurting her. The way he held her shoulders, tight and possessive, was proof enough of that. He was afraid of the pain.

"What triggers the transformation?" she asked. "Not anger, obviously."

"Anything that stimulates the heart rate past a certain point," he answered. For all the level tone, his body wasn't quite so blasé; his hips kept making tiny thrusts against her own as if they weren't under his control. Warmth flushed through her, spreading outward from every place he touched. "So for someone else, it might be anger."

Interesting.

But not useful, under the circumstances. Lydia considered the issue of positions and relative exertion, and then laid her hand on his breastbone, pushing. "On your back."

Eyeing her warily, he complied. As soon as he settled, she straddled his waist. Instantly he clamped his fingers in a death grip on her thighs. Speaking in an instructional tone, she said, "We can't have you moving too much, or you'll hurt too badly to do what you need to do. So..." She leaned to kiss his neck, relishing his shudder in spite of her current mixed feelings. Kissing her way down his torso, she murmured, "Hold... _very_... still... now..."

His hands loosened, and then fell to fist the sheets as she scooted toward the foot of the bed.

Was it bad manners to make comparisons? Lydia was nearly positive it was, but she couldn't help but notice things like girth versus length and Derek was only the third guy she'd seen in real life, in decent light. He more than passed, regardless. Wrapping her fingers around his length, she glanced up. He pressed his head back into the bed, staring at the ceiling, panting. Unmistakably human.

Well, that was all right. In addition to the other two things, she was pretty confident in her ability to give a blow job, too.

The instant her lips came into contact with his cock, he made a helpless noise in the back of his throat that sent her heartbeat south to lodge between her legs. Letting her hair fall forward to hide her smile, she sank down, swallowing as she went.

"Goddammit," he said on a shaky exhale. She slid back up. "Fuck—Lydia—"

She hummed around him, an inquiring sound that he didn't seem capable of answering. Just as well. Lydia knew he had to be struggling against the pain even while she was doing this, and she felt oddly split between two focuses too: one of them gratification at how much she could affect Derek, and the other the little voice at the back of her mind that chanted _I'm still not over him..._

As if that mattered.

Closing her eyes, she devoted her attention to the task at hand instead of wasting time on emotion. And honestly, she loved going down on a guy anyway so this wasn't a hardship. Feeling him twitch when she ran her teeth around the head made it worthwhile. She found a rhythm and set to work in earnest, ignoring the growing ache in her jaw and the trembling in her wrists while Derek said things she didn't bother paying attention to in a voice that sounded more and more gravelly as the minutes passed.

Eventually, his hands settled in her hair and tugged, not gently. "Lydia."

The urgent tone broke through the haze that had settled over her brain. Sitting up and shaking back her hair, she looked at his face, keeping her hands moving on him. His eyes blazed blue.

"I'm close," he warned her.

With a smirk, Lydia ducked and licked him, base to tip and back down again, never stopping the movement of her hand. He bucked and growled. She had just enough time to wonder if they changed _all over_ before Derek yanked her up to sprawl on top of him and then rolled them both over, pinning her wrists above her head and roaring, fully in werewolf form and fully terrifying even when he was coming in hot spurts on her belly. Lydia couldn't decided whether she was more aroused or alarmed. He lowered his head to sniff at her neck, and then licked the skin over her jugular with a tongue rougher than a man's.

When she was certain her voice would be steady, she said, "The people in the rooms around us must think I brought a lion in with me."

The matter-of-fact words flipped a switch. He withdrew, not just from the bed but all the way to the bathroom. She cleaned up with the towel, then followed, and found him staring at his reflection as the animalistic features faded.

"Let me see, Derek." He turned, presenting his body for inspection. She ran her fingertips over his unblemished chest because she could. "Perfect. How do you feel?"

"Better." He sounded hoarse. "Thank you."

"Good." She picked up her dress from the floor and shook it out with a critical look. "Well, this is a total mess now. Help me with the back?"

He zipped it up once she put it back on, and then dressed in silence. Once he was done, she drove him back to the warehouse and walked him down the stairs. "I brought bedding. Even scary werewolves need sheets that aren't completely stained by their own blood. Check the bags."

"You can't—"

"See you tomorrow."

She drove home in a daze and showered as soon as she walked inside, remembering that she must reek of Derek to anyone with the nose to notice. Her homework came next, followed by food since she only then became conscious of the fact that she'd forgotten to eat. It wasn't until she finally made her way into her own bed that she realized she had no idea how she felt about what had happened, and no idea if she wanted to find out.


	7. Balancing Acts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia walks a number of fine lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to einfach_mich, Fated Feathers, and grrlinterrupted for their prereading input.
> 
> I don't own Teen Wolf.

The next morning, Lydia's cell phone nearly suffered an ugly death when the alarm sounded. She dressed with her usual care, but her mind was a million miles away, or rather about fifteen, stuck in a warehouse with a recalcitrant werewolf. For the first time ever, she wished she didn't have to go to school.

Nothing to be done about it, though. With a final inspection in the mirror and a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she headed downstairs.

"Good morning, sweetie," her mom said, looking up from her copy of _The New York Times_ with a smile.

"Good morning." Lydia decided to skip food and headed straight for the coffee. "Anything interesting going on in the world?"

"Always. Are you all right? Your complexion is a little dull."

Gritting her teeth, Lydia stirred Splenda into her travel mug. "I'm probably still recovering from the vicious animal attack that landed me in the hospital. Mother."

"I'm sure you're right. We'll have to make a spa date soon."

The paper hid her mother's face again by the time she turned to go.

During P.E., Lydia took some petty comfort in the fact that Allison's complexion was no better than her own, with the addition of deep purple bruises beneath her eyes that indicated an even more restless night than the one Lydia had spent. After a minute's smugness, she remembered that friendship carried certain responsibilities, and leaned over under cover of the teacher's instructions to whisper, "Are you okay? You look a little tired."

Allison gave her that same strained smile that was starting to seem normal on her face. "I didn't sleep really well. There was some family stuff I had to deal with."

Family stuff. Like... werewolf hunting stuff? Lydia studied her friend's eyes. Allison looked away as they shuffled closer to the bottom of the climbing wall.

Scott managed to give up enough places in line to go up the wall with Allison. Everything seemed fine, the two of them teasing each other, Scott checking out Allison's ass, and then saying something that pissed her off about two seconds later that resulted in her kicking his feet free of the wall. He came to rest inches above the mat, held secure by the harness, while they all laughed.

"McCall, I don't know why, but your pain gives me a special kind of joy," Coach said, crouching down to grin at him. "Right? All right, next two. Stilinski, Erica, let's go! The wall."

Looking forward in surprise, Lydia saw that Erica Reyes had somehow managed to inch in front of her. Irritated, she glanced at Stiles. A flash of disappointment crossed his face before he jogged to the harness. He made it to the top while Erica was still struggling with the first half. Lydia studied her nails and mentally gave Erica a head-to-toe makeover. Honestly, she understood about the epilepsy, but did that mean there were no hairbrushes in the entire Reyes household? Not to mention cover-up. There was no excuse to appear in public looking that sloppy unless somebody was holding all her mirrors hostage.

Erica had frozen in place, whimpering, "Oh, please..." Her arms trembled wildly.

Coach walked to the bottom of the wall. "Erica? Dizzy? Is it vertigo?"

Lydia gave him an indignant glare. Was she the only person in this place who had ever read a book? "Vertigo's a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear. She's just freaking..."

The look on Stiles' face made her trail off. It was the same expression both Scott and he had worn when she asked what Jackson should have done about the Laheys.

Coach ignored her. "Erica?"

"I'm fine," Erica quavered.

Allison spoke up, worry creasing her forehead. "Coach, maybe it's not safe. You know she's epileptic."

"Why doesn't anybody tell me this stuff?" Coach yelled. Lydia could practically see the _oh, shit, the whole school district is about to get sued_ running through his mind. "Erica, y-you're fine. Just kick off from the wall. There's a mat to catch you."

She eventually got down and retreated toward the locker room while some of the other kids snickered. Lydia noticed Scott, Stiles, and Allison watching Erica go, obviously concerned. Jackson, at the back of the line, seemed to be in his own world, staring at the floor with his jaw clenched tight. She knew that look. He was angry at himself for not being the best at something that mattered to him. Anybody lower on the social ladder was going to pay the price today.

 _He's not my problem anymore,_ she reminded herself, and snapped the harness on, trying not to flash back to the way Derek had writhed beneath her and failing. She beat Greenberg to the top regardless.

In the locker room, Lydia barely got her clothes back on before she saw Allison running out the door. Curiosity got the best of her and she followed, back to the gym, just in time to see Scott catch Erica while the girl shook in the throes of a seizure.

"Turn her on her side," Allison instructed, kneeling next to Erica.

How did she know to do that? Lydia watched in confusion while Stiles called 911, and then slowly backed away to the locker room again. Erica hadn't been freaking out from the height or because she was physically weak, but most likely because she'd felt the aura of an encroaching seizure. Lydia had completely misread the situation.

 _It has to happen to everyone sometime,_ she tried to comfort herself as she reapplied mascara.

 _Not to me,_ the voice that sounded like her father's sneered. _Not to us. Do better._

She spent the rest of the day avoiding any sort of social interaction and then headed home to catch up on studying.

"Are you skipping dinner tonight?" her mother called from the bottom of the stairs.

With a start, Lydia looked out the window and saw that night had fallen. Her stomach twisted into an aching knot. "I think I should eat," she answered, only then remembering that she'd neglected food all day long.

"I'll make some salad. Do you want chicken on it?"

"No, thank you." Lydia turned back to her biology textbook. Her phone buzzed before she could find her place, displaying Stiles' number. She pushed "ignore."

A few seconds later, her voicemail icon appeared, and then he called back. With a sigh, Lydia hit "answer." "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just studying." One out of two wasn't bad. "Why?"

"See?" she heard him say, voice muffled. "She's fine. Now will you stop bugging me?"

"Who are you talking to?" She flipped idly through the section on vaccination. Like she hadn't known all this since fifth grade.

"Scott. He was worried because he left you with Derek-the-full-moon-dick last night." He raised his voice a little. "Although I guess if he were _that worried_ maybe he shouldn't have left you alone in the first place!"

"Well, at least he got to hang out with Allison to make up for it." Damned happy couples.

"No, she wasn't there; he's already complained about it approximately twelve times. Why didn't you come over here tonight?"

She wondered if he meant his house or the warehouse or what, but didn't bother asking. "Have you heard anything about Erica?"

"I know Scott's mom probably treated her, since apparently she's the only nurse in the hospital who does jack shit."

Lydia snorted with laughter. "That's not exactly what I meant."

"Nah, I didn't hear anything, but I'm sure she's fine. She's been having those seizures since we were little, remember? In third grade, when we were on that field trip?"

In third grade, Lydia's parents had been getting a divorce and she'd been having to choose with which one of them she would live. She lied, "Yes, of course I remember."

"Who's Erica?" an all-too-familiar voice inquired from the vicinity of the window.

Lydia almost dropped the phone. Tightening her grip, she breathed, "I have to call you back," and hung up, then turned to see Peter surveying her with a half-smile.

"You didn't answer my question," he chided, moving toward her with soundless grace. Prada weaved between his feet, gazing up at him in adoration.

"Why can't you be like vampires and need to be invited in?" She hunched over her desk to stare at her textbook.

He scoffed. "Vampires don't exist. They're nothing but an invention of grave robbers intent on escaping investigation." Sliding one hip onto the desk beside her, he fanned through the pages of her book. "Werelizards, on the other hand, are real. I don't suppose they mention that in biology class, though."

"Why would one come here?" Lydia asked, and then realized, "Unless it's someone who already lives in Beacon Hills?"

"Oh, very good," he said, with the air of a teacher speaking to a star pupil. "Who is Erica?"

"A girl from my school. She has epilepsy and had to go to the hospital after a seizure. What do you care?"

"I'm always interested in the well-being of Beacon Hills' youth."

Lydia gave him a deadpan stare, waiting for it.

"Oh, fine, I'm just on the lookout for more potentials. You've proven so useful, after all, although Jackson is in the 'to be determined' column at the moment."

Something in the way he said it made her blood run cold. "You don't want another member of your pack?"

Peter met her gaze, speculative. "Traditional packs might not be enough to get what I need."

Fear tightened her throat until she could only whisper. "What exactly do you need?"

With a chuckle, he slammed the book closed. "Now, sweetheart, I can't tell you the things I don't want Scott and Stiles to know, can I?" Lydia's heart rate tripled, and he nodded. "Of course I know about your new friends. It's just as well. Scott will be a member of my pack too, someday. As soon as I can convince him about the idiocy of the alternative."

A yapping bark from outside made him roll his eyes. Lydia said, "New girlfriend?"

"No, actually." He offered his hand. After a second's hesitation, she placed her fingers on his and let him lead her to the window. Following his gaze, she saw the homeless man from the school standing across the street, staring at her. Instinct had her ducking back against the wall, behind Peter and out of the other man's sight.

"Why is he here?" she whispered.

Peter seemed to enjoy her fright. "I need him, and he's pathetically eager to be used." Leaning down, he brushed her hair back and then nuzzled the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She wondered if his tongue would feel as rough as Derek's. "You know, Lydia, in spite of your unfortunate—for you—immunity, you're still an Alpha female. By my side, you'd be way more powerful than you would as a third wheel in the Scott and Stiles show."

"Allison," she managed to say, though his proximity was making it hard to form words. He hadn't bothered with cologne. How did he smell so _good_?

"Ha!" Lifting his head, he gave her a look of genuine amusement. "Little Miss Argent—excuse me, _Ms._ —doesn't know Scott's secret. How effective a member of his pack can she be? Not that I don't understand why he hasn't told her, considering her family would force them to break up at the very least. His head is really up her ass, isn't it?"

"How much of what I think is from your thoughts?" Lydia demanded, pushing away from the wall.

He watched her go back to lean over her desk with obvious appreciation. "A fair amount, although I'm not in control of quite a bit of it. If I were, I'd be digging around in that beautiful mind much more often."

She dropped her mouth open, all exaggerated shock. "And miss out on these wonderful talks? Never."

"It would be a tragic loss." He moved to the window again, looking out at his hapless cohort. "Well, I suppose I'd better put this one to his intended purpose."

"Have fun with that." Lydia turned away, pretending to focus on writing in her notebook.

"Do I always have to steal my kisses from you?" he asked plaintively.

 _Yes!_ Lydia nearly screamed, but restrained the outburst. Right now, her sexual allure was the only influence she knew how to wield over him, although clearly she could utilize her other purpose if only she figured out what it was. Better to try and string him along, although there were no guarantees he wouldn't see through it. She couldn't make her voice anything other than acidic, though. "If you'd asked before now, maybe not."

Peter donned the most unconvincing air of penitence she'd ever had the misfortune to witness. "Kiss me, Lydia?"

"Fine." She walked to him, grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket with both hands, and leaned up. He stood several inches shorter than Derek, so it was a much easier stretch.

He bent enough to touch his lips to hers, but when he started to back off, she tightened her grip and opened her mouth. With a muffled sound of appreciation, Peter skimmed his palms down her sides to her hips and pulled her close. Lydia almost forgot her original purpose then, because he _really_ knew what he was doing on the kissing front. She got her answer to the tongue-roughness question and then some. Her toes had curled in her boots by the time he released her, but she took some satisfaction from the fact that his eyes glowed red and she could feel his heart racing.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he said, irritatingly calm, and gave her a peck on the forehead before diving out the window.

Her phone showed five new texts from Stiles. She didn't read any of them, but texted back, _I'll tell you tomorrow_ so he wouldn't worry. Even though maybe he should.

The blue-eyed boy visited her that night, but he only leaned against the trophy case at school and laughed at her.

The next morning, it turned out that their biology teacher wanted them to watch the most boring film on vaccination ever made. How anyone could turn something as epic as saving millions of lives through the power of scientific innovation into a dull series of cartoons and close-ups of injection was beyond her. She fiddled with her pencil and thought about how she could visit Derek to relate Peter's latest escapade without leading the Alpha straight to his nephew.

Once the bell rang, she headed for her locker, but a hand with manic strength in its grip seized her upper arm and before she knew it, Jackson slammed her into the wall.

"What the hell—" he shook her arm, "is _wrong_ with you?"

 _I'm the one with the problem?_ she thought, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "What!"

Rage distorted his face enough to make it almost unrecognizable. "Show it to me." He snatched at her wrist, but she yanked it back. "Show it to me! Come on!"

Hiding her hurt arm between her body and the wall, she demanded, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Nothing happened to you," Jackson muttered, looking her up and down as if he expected to see a change. "It's like... It's like you're immune."

Fear lanced down her throat, icing her stomach with its force. How did he know? What did he know? "I don't have a clue to what you're talking about."

To her complete shock, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into the wall again. Pain sang through her shoulder blades. "It's you! Whatever it is—blood, saliva—whatever soul-killing substance is running through your veins, _you_ did this to me." He stepped back, and she hoped that would be the end, but he came back with a finger thrust in her face, pointing like a witness at a murder trial. "You ruined it for me. You ruined everything!" He practically yelled the last word, but then finally turned and started for the stairs.

Lydia's legs shook so badly that she had to brace herself against the wall to stay upright. The first coherent thought she put together was, _It didn't work. He's not a werewolf._ The second was, _Why the hell did I just let him do this to me?_ Looking around, she saw people walking by, laughing, talking as if everything was normal. She'd been assaulted in a hall full of witnesses, none of them had noticed, and she hadn't even thought to call for help. How stupid could she be?

 _Asking for help is a weakness,_ her father's voice said. _Take care of it yourself, later, when he's not expecting it._

 _He's probably just disappointed,_ her mother's voice said. _You know how boys are, sweetie. They're just naturally more... physical than we are._

But the voice that was loudest sounded like her own, echoing Derek's words. _That dick!_

Gulping back sobs, she headed for her next class, forgetting to retrieve her books until after the tardy bell rang. The realization sent fresh tears springing to her eyes.

_I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry._

Too late.

She managed to hide her face and pull herself together when the lunch bell rang, but it was a close-run thing. By the time she made it to the cafeteria, both Stiles and Scott had already sat down with their food. She walked to join them.

At first, the identical expressions of slack-jawed amazement on their faces made her wonder if her eye makeup had smeared, but then she realized they were both looking past her. Turning, she saw a leopard-print heels to die for, lifting a pair of equally envy-inducing legs to killer heights. Taking in the rest of the leather-heavy outfit, Lydia finally reached the other girl's face and slammed her palms down on the table in shock. "What... the holy hell... is _that_?"

"It's Erica," Scott replied, face full of dread.

"Oh shit," Lydia breathed, watching red, red lips wrap themselves around a stolen apple. "I didn't have a chance to tell you, but—"

Erica pranced back out again. Stiles and Scott scurried after her. Hampered by her own heels, Lydia brought up the rear, following them to the front doors just in time to see Erica get into a black Camaro with Peter Hale. The Alpha aimed a shit-eating grin their way before peeling out of the parking lot.

"Fuck," Stiles spat out, the single syllable so full of disgust that there didn't seem to be anything left to say.

Lydia found Stiles and Scott as soon as the last bell rang. "I need to talk to Derek."

"I've got it covered," Scott replied.

Stiles did a double take. "You do?"

Lydia suppressed a smile. "What do I need to do?"

He spoke without inflection, staring at the ground. "Allison's going to take you to the mall, and then Stiles'll pick you up in the parking garage after you shop for a while. Just text him when you're ready." He shrugged. "I have to work."

Looking at Stiles, Lydia saw the same concerned expression she felt on her own face. "Scott," she said. "You can't save everybody." Most people couldn't save _anybody_. Why were Stiles and he obsessed with an agenda guaranteed to fail?

"I should be able to." He pitched his voice so low that she wondered if he thought she couldn't hear.

At least Allison seemed to be in a good mood, smiling and talking about classes and the renewed archery lessons her aunt had volunteered to give her. Lydia pushed her worries to the back of her mind and responded with ease, a lifetime's practice of concealing her thoughts behind niceties coming to her aid.

Stiles texted his parking garage row and level after about an hour, so she said goodbye to Allison and headed to the food court before going to meet him.

"Whoa." He jumped out of the Jeep to take the bags hanging from her arms. "You guys did some serious hunting."

"That's just food for Derek and you. Scott, too, if he shows up after work, but I imagine he's going to be with Allison." Inspecting the seat, Lydia swept it off with one hand and then sat. "Ready?"

Derek greeted them at the door. "Where have you been? What the hell is going on? Why didn't you come last night?"

"All in good time." Lydia pushed his chest with one hand and walked past. "You need to eat. And do you have a cell phone?"

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Stiles hold out the bags to Derek. Derek ignored them and followed her down the stairs. "Why would I need a cell phone?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because not all of us can participate in the Twilight Bark." Stiles laughed, but Derek scowled in incomprehension. " _101 Dalmatians_? No? Werewolves lead deprived childhoods. Sit down and eat while I tell you everything."

"You can't keep buying me things."

"Mm. Peter came by last night, and he had another werewolf with him."

Stiles stumbled down the last few stairs and dropped the food in front of Derek. "I'll just... close the door myself then."

As if he hadn't spoken, Derek said, "Someone from your school?"

With a huff, Stiles headed back up the steps. Lydia found an empty crate and turned it upside down to sit on it. "No. Why would it be?"

Derek sat cross-legged opposite on the floor. "Teenagers have an easier time with the transition. They're already in a state of flux between childhood and adulthood. If an Alpha's going to give someone the bite, it's usually a high schooler."

"It has to be an Alpha?" Stiles asked, sitting next to him. Derek gave him a disbelieving look, and Stiles inched away, closer to Lydia.

"Yes." Apparently Stiles had reached a satisfactory distance, because Derek opened one of the bags and peered inside. "It has to be an Alpha. Did you recognize the other werewolf?"

Lydia told him the story, but when she got to the part about kissing she faltered and fell silent.

"What are you leaving out?" Derek asked before forking up another bite of salad.

Was Stiles still right about nobody owning Lydia Martin? Her response to Peter made her wonder. Avoiding both their gazes, she said, "He wants me to be at his side. As an Alpha female."

"Scary," Stiles commented, mouth full. "And we haven't even gotten to the part about Erica yet."

Derek paused in his chewing. "Who's Erica?"

Stiles told that part of the story, with accompanying gestures that had Lydia fighting outright laughter even though the situation wasn't actually that funny. When he finished, Derek didn't comment.

"Well?" Lydia said, after what seemed like an hour-long wait.

He looked at her, but only said, "You haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

"How long since your last meal?"

"What is this, interrogate Lydia time?" He lifted his eyebrows, and she sighed. "I haven't been able to stomach food lately. Maybe it's the constant blood loss."

"You should eat."

"I don't want to."

Stiles, head going back and forth like a tennis fan's at Wimbledon, said, "Maybe she knows whether or not she needs to eat."

"Maybe she doesn't." Derek looked her up and down with impersonal thoroughness.

Lydia flushed hot under his regard. "Give me the other salad if it'll make you stop badgering me."

He was wise enough not to let any triumph show when he handed it over, along with a plastic fork. She only took one bite before she decided it was a pain to eat with her coat on.

"If Peter's still building his pack, then—" Derek cut himself off, whipping his head around to aim a furious stare at Lydia's bared arms. "What the fuck is that?"

Totally at a loss, she glanced at Stiles, but he was staring too, consternation clear. Following their line of sight, she lifted her arms for inspection. Four bruises on her right arm, eight on her left, grab marks from Jackson's little temper tantrum. Stupid fair redhead skin. Why did it always have to bruise so easily?

Derek crawled over. She wished he wouldn't do that; it was highly distracting. Sitting up his knees, he hovered his hands beside her skin before hesitantly lining up his own fingers with the marks. His shoulders slumped, and he heaved a sigh once he compared them. "Not mine."

Lydia lifted one hand to cover his on the opposite arm. "No. Not yours."

He nodded, not meeting her eyes, and caressed her from her shoulder down to her wrist before retreating once more.

She could see by the lack of expression on Stiles' face that he had already figured out something of what had gone on between Derek and her, but he only said, "Who did it, then?"

"Jackson. He thinks I kept him from turning into a werewolf, like I inoculated him through sex."

Stiles blushed, but Derek jerked upright. "He didn't turn into a werewolf?"

"No. He's immune, and he thinks it's my fault." Proud for keeping her voice steady, Lydia ate a bite of salad.

"Maybe the lizard isn't Isaac after all," Derek said.

Lydia caught up with his train of thought and slowly set her fork down. "You think Jackson is going around murdering people as a lizard? Don't you think he'd _remember_ that? Don't you think he'd need a reason?"

Derek gazed at the bruises on her arms and said, "Sometimes people don't need much of one."


	8. Favor, Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek interrogates, Lydia misleads, and Kate is her usual charming self.

Stiles went at eight-thirty to retrieve Scott from the veterinary clinic, leaving Derek and Lydia alone. Strained silence fell between them, which Lydia broke with, "Where will you go?"

He tilted his head. "Go?"

How could he not have thought this through? "You can't stay here forever, or even for much longer. There's no electricity, or running water."

"There's running water." He gave a rueful shrug. "Sewage, too. The bathrooms are still functional. The city must have forgotten to turn off the connection."

"Okay, but that's still not enough. Not when you need to have, for instance, light after dark and—" She stopped talking because he rose to his feet and headed across the room, away from her.

"I don't actually need that," he said. "I've got night vision. It's part of the werewolf package. Still, since Stiles and you don't..." Reaching for something, he plugged it into the wall and smiled as a string of lights overhead illuminated.

Lydia's mouth fell open in surprise. "How did you do that? Did they forget to turn off the electricity too? And where did those lights come from?"

Derek looked as pleased with himself as the first place winner at the science fair. "Lanterns the construction crew left behind. I worked with an electrician for a while, and he taught me some things about wiring."

That sounded like an adult job, not the sort of thing that would fill a summer between classes. Narrowing her eyes, Lydia asked, "How old are you?"

The happiness disappeared from his face. Warily, he said, "Older than you."

 _So, are we just totally not going to discuss the fact that your dick was in my mouth?_ she wanted to say, but then thought through his possible answers and decided the most likely one was _no_.

Pulling her books out of her bag, she said, "At least I can study while we wait for the others to get back. I'm going to have to get some furniture if you're going to make this your hideout for the long-term."

She fully expected him to object, but he studied her for a second and then said, "Why are you acting like it was no big deal?"

Heat crept up her neck. "You needed help. I helped you. Apparently that's all Stiles and Scott do with their time so I suppose it's rubbing off. It _is_ no big deal."

Derek snorted with laughter. Lydia stared; she wouldn't have thought he _could_ really laugh. He said, "First of all, I don't think Scott would've gone down on me just because my life depended on it, helpful or not. Second of all, I'm not talking about the blow job. I'm talking about Jackson bruising you. That's a big fucking deal and you're playing it off as if it were nothing."

"If I were a werewolf, would you still say that?" she asked, setting her book down on her lap. "You didn't seem to think it was any _big deal_ for Scott to risk his life to come get you, since you answered when he called you. Or is it that I'm a girl?"

"If you were a werewolf, you'd have healed the instant he let go of you," he countered. "We're rougher with each other than with humans, because we can be. It's not about me thinking you're weak. It's about him abusing whatever strength the bite gave him, and you putting on a show as if it weren't abusive."

Lydia shot to her feet, heedless of her book falling to the floor. "What do you want me to say? 'Yes, Derek, it was a very big deal'? Or how about, 'I can't decide who I hate more, him for hurting me like this or myself for letting him'? Or maybe, 'Today was a banner day because I helped round out that statistic about women being abused by someone they know and then cried in class like a little bit—'" She ran out of air, and tried to breathe past the lump in her throat without much success. "Like a little—" Tears rolled out of her eyes before she could stop them. "Shit!" Spinning away, she swiped the droplets from her cheeks and grabbed her purse to dig around for the Kleenex she always kept in a side pocket, but she couldn't find it.

After a few seconds' fruitless searching, Derek's hands intruded into her view. Taking her purse, he found the Kleenex and handed them over. Lydia offered a determined smile as she dabbed at her eyes.

His face didn't betray any guilt, but she heard it in his voice. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I almost wish I _were_ a werewolf," she joked, wiping her nose and then putting the tissue back into her purse. "The bruises would be gone already. Not like this stupid thing." Her wrist throbbed with pain as she looked at the blackened bandage. "Why do wounds from an Alpha take longer to heal?"

He grasped her hand and pulled it toward him, inspecting her skin. "Because, ideally, an Alpha only hurts another werewolf to protect her pack from attack, or because the werewolf she bit is in her pack and endangered it somehow, so it needed to be punished. A wound from an Alpha is a lesson that needs to be remembered."

"Lesson learned, I guess." Lydia knew she should probably move away, but her hand felt too at home in his.

Derek didn't seem to be in any hurry to let go, either.

Their gazes met, and Lydia swallowed. Derek moved his thumb over her palm. "If Peter wants you to be part of his pack, it's because you make him stronger. I think he's figured out that I'm onto him, and he wants to be powerful enough to take me out before I attack him." He stepped closer, examining her face as if he could read the answer to the mystery written on her features. "What is it about you?"

"Probably the same thing that makes me immune." The scent of his skin triggered memories of his taste. Lydia tried to keep her breaths shallow but she had a feeling it looked like she was panting. Maybe she was. "I wish I knew what it is, because I'm not going to have the upper hand over Peter until I do. The only advantage I have now is—"

"Is what?" he asked when she fell silent.

She tried to think of how to put it, without saying _he thinks he can screw me into cooperation._ In the end, she settled for a lame, "He's attracted to me." Her free hand fluttered up involuntarily to her mouth.

Derek's fingers tightened, and his eyes flashed werewolf blue. "He kissed you?"

Dropping her hand, Lydia licked her lips, then almost winced. She hadn't meant to do that either, but she could still feel the imprint of Peter's kiss heavy on her psyche. "It's pretty much the only leverage I've got."

"That's the kind of leverage that can tip in the other direction in a heartbeat," he warned, inching nearer.

"I don't have many alternatives."

Her heart sank with disappointment when he released his grip on her, but then leaped into her throat because he framed her face with his hands. "I swear I can smell him on you."

Lydia reached up and curled her fingers around his wrists. "You and me both. I feel him with me all the time, in my head, and it's making me crazy." One particular dip in his collarbone was right at her eye level, and now she couldn't think of anything except how badly she wanted to run her tongue across it.

Derek tilted her head back and nosed her at the exact same point Peter had sniffed. A low growl started in his chest, so quiet she more felt it than heard it.

 _Is he going to kiss me or bite me?_ she wondered. The sudden rush of wetness between her legs proved that her body didn't care either way.

He moved his face up her neck with agonizing slowness, bristle stinging her skin like a warning. "I don't want him to touch you." Sharp teeth edged along her jawline, so delicately that they only prickled without causing real pain. "I don't want Jackson to touch you. I _hate_ that they had their hands on you."

Lydia's knees turned to water. Good thing she still had him to hold her upright. "I do too," she confessed, in a whisper so low that even she barely heard it. Both Jackson and Peter had left their imprint on her without her permission. She would have given anything to erase them from her body.

"But not me," he said, and despite the fact that it wasn't a question, she heard the faint uncertainty.

"No." Her eyelids fluttered as he sucked on her earlobe. Her grip tightened, driving her nails into his skin. "Not you. I don't hate that at all." Arousal pooled low in her belly, a liquid glow that set her skin alight with wanting him. "I want you to touch me."

The growl grew in pitch, vibrating into her bones and making her pulse race with excitement. He tongued the delicate area beneath her ear. Heat flooded from the point of contact, rushing through her veins until every cell in her body had caught on fire.

"Derek." She rotated her hips, grinding against his erection. The pressure relieved the ache a little, but it wasn't enough. Frustrated beyond the ability to verbalize it, she ordered, " _Touch_ me!"

One rough hand freed itself from her hair and dragged down her front, squeezing her through the fabric before making its way inside the low neckline, freeing her breast from the confines of her clothes. Even though it stretched, she heard stitches giving way as he yanked her up against him, bending her back so he could suck on her nipple. She ran greedy hands over him, under his shirt, relishing the way his muscles tightened and flexed under her touch. His mouth moved over her cleavage with a raw eagerness that turned her on even more than the reddened marks he left behind. It didn't escape her notice that, even now, he took care to avoid the places where she had been hurt.

He wrapped one of her legs around his own, holding her steady, then tugged the hem of her dress higher on her hips to reach beneath it. Shoving her underwear to the side, he stroked the sensitive skin beneath the lace and shuddered when he slipped one finger into her with ease.

Lydia moaned, letting her head fall back. For a brief instant, fear flashed through her—what if she fell?—but then she remembered how strong he was. Derek added another finger and then did something that made the air turn thin and insubstantial in her lungs, twisting inside her as his thumb slid upward to her clit. "Oh," she gasped out, feeling her body clench around him.

To her surprise, he spoke, voice strained but clear. "I want you to come for me."

She nodded, barely able to hear him.

"Now."

Right, because it was that easy. She whimpered as his thumb picked up speed. His fingers curled up, dragging across a spot that made her flinch for the best reasons.

"Because if you don't..." He moved his other arm down to the small of her back, keeping her upright. She could feel his lips curve against her shoulder. "Scott and Stiles are going to see me doing this to you. They just pulled up."

The threat served its intended purpose. Knowing it was now or never pushed her over the edge. Burying her face in his chest to muffle her scream, Lydia convulsed around his hand.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and she swayed on her heels, bereft of Derek's support. Looking around, she saw him on the opposite side of the room, half in the shadows, sucking on the fingers he'd had inside her. The sight was enough to turn her lightheaded.

"No, seriously, dude, you're going to have to take it to the shop," Scott said. "It's making a weird noise."

"Bathroom?" she mouthed to Derek as they started to descend the steps.

He pointed, and she scurried to the dilapidated room as fast as she could so she wouldn't have to see the realization on Scott's face.

Scrubbing up with nothing but cold water in the dark probably wasn't all that effective, but it killed some time until the blushing start to fade. Of course, it came right back again as soon as she stepped out into the light with the other three, but it couldn't be helped.

Scott gave her a look like _what the hell are you doing?_ and Stiles was doing his best to pretend everything was normal, jabbering at Derek even though the two spots of color on his cheeks gave him away. Lydia decided the best defense in this case was a preemptive strike. "Did you talk to Dr. Deaton?" she asked, taking a seat on her crate again. "What did he tell you?"

Sheepishness wiped away the remonstration from Scott's face. "Um, yeah. I asked him. He gave me $2.50 more an hour."

"Are you kidding me?" Lydia's lip curled up in a sneer of disbelief. "You were supposed to get answers to our questions about werelizards, not ask for a raise!"

"I didn't ask for a raise!" he said, on the defensive. "He just... gave it to me... and then it was awkward to ask the other thing."

Lydia looked at Stiles, who was flailing in indignation. He shouted, "It's going to be more than awkward when the next person gets murdered by a _sentient reptile,_ Scott!"

"I know!" Scott shouted back, and then sat down heavily on the floor. More quietly, he repeated, "I know. It's so hard when nobody who knows anything seems up to having a straightforward conversation."

Derek, who had been watching them both with an exasperated set to his jaw, finally spoke. "Allison's family would know what it is. They keep records about the things that they hunt. Not just werewolves. It would be in a book, probably an old one."

Scott looked up at him. "No way. I'm not sneaking around in their house again. When we had to find that bullet, that time you were shot, her psycho aunt nearly killed me because she thought I had just _wandered_ into her room, and now her dad wants me dead because Allison said she was the one in there, taking condoms."

Stiles and Lydia shared glances of identical amusement, but Derek's face didn't change a whit. "Either you get the book or we'll waste time trying to figure out if this thing is Jackson and how to stop him."

"You get it," Scott said. "I'm serious, I'm not doing that again. They're really suspicious already. Sneak into their house while they're gone if you think it's so easy."

A flash of some strong emotion lit Derek's eyes, so suddenly that Lydia couldn't identify it before it was gone. "Scott, you're being ridiculous."

Scott didn't answer.

"How about this?" Stiles rushed in. "Why don't we just kidnap Jackson and bring him here? We can force him to tell the truth."

"That's decent." Derek nodded.

"What if he is the werelizard?" Scott asked.

"Kill him," Stiles and Derek said simultaneously.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "You're only mad because of the other thing."

Scott ran his fingers through his hair till it stood on end. "You can't just kill people!"

"It's not a person!" Derek snarled. Stiles gestured at him, like, _my point exactly._

"Um, hello?" Lydia said, raising her hand. "You're all forgetting something. I'm friends with Allison. I can go to her house with no problem."

"You can't do that; it's too dangerous," Scott said, shaking his head.

"Good," Derek said at the same moment.

"Derek!" Scott protested, getting to his feet again.

Lydia smiled with satisfaction. "Don't worry, Scott. I'll bring backup."

"Who?" he asked. Derek seemed equally confused.

Reaching over to Stiles, Lydia patted his arm. "Stiles, of course."

"Yeah, me, of—wait, what?" Stiles went pale. "Lydia, I don't know whether or not that's a good idea."

" _I_ know. It's a terrible idea," Derek said, voice gone flat with disapproval.

"I hate this idea," Scott thirded.

Never in her life had Lydia gone so fast from wanting to have sex with someone to wanting to strangle him, and taking into account her most recent ex, that was saying something. "Considering I'm the one volunteering my services as a spy in the house of death, I think you can all go to hell," she replied, keeping her tone saccharine sweet. "Now, I really need to get home and take a shower, so, can I get a ride, Stiles?"

Scott stared meaningfully at Derek, as if waiting for him to insist she act like Stiles was some sort of shrinking violet, but Derek just shoved his hands into his pockets and glowered at the ground. Throwing his hands up in the air, Scott said, "Fine. Let's go."

"Excellent." Lydia gathered up her things and sashayed up the stairs without a backward glance.

( * * * )

"So, when you said 'study,' you guys _actually_ meant we should study?" Allison said, bemusement clear.

Stiles gave her a _duh_ look and dropped about ten textbooks onto her bedroom floor, at least three of which Lydia was certain didn't come from their school. "Just because Scott and you are going out doesn't mean you should let your grades plummet into the abyss like his have. It's time to buckle down. Get to work. Make hay while the sun shines."

Uncertain, Allison looked to Lydia, who gave her a bright-eyed smile from her position on the bed. "After all, you can't be neglecting your other friends for your boyfriend. That's a sure-fire route to social doom." Which was one of the reasons Allison had been an instant target for friendship as soon as Lydia saw her. Boys at the top of the social ladder were usually stars at sports, but Lydia had risen to her status by judicious use of assumed idiocy and incompetence. That ploy made it hard to befriend non-idiots.

"All right." Stiles flipped open his biology textbook and made a show of checking their assignments list. "Vocabulary for chapter fifteen. 'Density-independent limiting factor.'"

They worked on the words for an hour before Lydia rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. As if she'd just noticed the pile of leather-bound books on the desk, she asked, "More family history?"

"Oh." For the first time all evening, Allison put on the strained smile. "Yeah. My aunt Kate is having me scan these old records and put them on an external hard drive. Really boring stuff."

"You have a scanner?" Lydia wandered to the desk and leaned back on it, so she could look at the titles out of the corner of her eye.

Leaping up, Allison swiped the books into her arms and moved them to her closet, slamming the door shut, then busied herself picking up throw pillows like that had been her purpose all along. "Yeah, my dad does. A lot of those heirlooms are so ancient that the paper is falling apart. One of them's written in archaic Latin, if you can believe that."

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "That died out in the first century C.E." Even her Latin instructor had thought it was a waste of time to learn to read it, but she had insisted. "It must have been copied over and over again for hundreds of years. How old is your family, anyway?"

"I'm starting to find out, really old."

Lydia walked to the bathroom and pulled her phone from her pocket as soon as she shut the door to text Stiles. _We have to get her dad out of the study without locking the door behind him._

Her phone buzzed. _Why?_

Rolling her eyes, she typed, _So I can download those scans from the external hard drive!_

_You're assuming he didn't put it in a safe. These people put keypad locks on their bedroom doors. Do you think they'll leave valuable files like that lying around in the open?_

Frowning, Lydia conceded, _Good point. Okay, then you need to get Allison out of her room so I can take pictures of those books._

_Why do you get to take the pictures?_

_Because my phone has a better camera._

No reply. She took that as assent.

After washing her hands, she went back to Allison's room and gave Stiles the laser eye treatment until he said, "Hey, Allison, Scott said you have a really awesome TV."

"Mm-hmm," Allison replied in noncommittal fashion, still reading from the textbook.

"Is it flatscreen?"

"I think so? I don't know. I'm too busy to watch it as much as I used to." She laughed under her breath. "It used to be my best friend."

Stiles ignored that. "Can I look at it? I've got a friend's birthday coming up and I need some gift ideas."

"With what money?" Lydia asked in disbelief, but he just stood and gestured to Allison to lead the way. With a sigh, she rose.

Once she heard their voices echoing in the front entryway, Lydia scrambled for the closet and eased it open. Most of the books were too old to have any print left on their spines. Handling each with care, she parted the pages, looking for illustrations or descriptions. When she reached the second to last, the title page made her pause.

_Animalitates._

With a tiny gasp, she started flipping through, looking for anything that might help her. It didn't have a table of contents, index, or even page numbers, just handwritten paragraphs interspersed with line drawings of odd creatures.

"Come on," she muttered, trying to go faster without ripping the delicate fibers. "Where are you, you freak of nature?"

At last she got to a section that seemed to be describing some sort of creature with a shell that could have been a dinosaur's or a turtle's. Turtles were reptiles, so maybe...

One more page and she saw the scaled body crouching in front of the full moon. She nearly dropped the book, but recovered and started taking pictures of page after page until she got to something that looked like a dragon. She went ahead and clicked a picture.

"Well, hello there."

Lydia forced herself not to start, but it was a close-run thing. Fortunately Kate Argent was standing to her side, not behind her. Closing the book with a tiny flick of her finger, Lydia smiled at the older woman. "Hello." Keeping her hands inside the closet, she hit the camera button one more time.

Kate shook back her mane of dirty blond hair and narrowed her eyes. "You know, it's interesting to me how many of Allison's friends see nothing wrong with intruding on her family's personal space."

Donning a repentant look, Lydia pulled out a boot with fur-lined cuffs and leather laces. "I'm really sorry. I just happened to catch sight of these and I wanted to take a picture so I could buy a pair of my own." As if she'd be caught dead in something with that low a heel, but whatever.

"Is that right." Kate sauntered closer. "Let me see your phone."

Lydia's jaw dropped. " _Excuse_ me?"

"Let. Me see. Your phone." She held out her hand. "I'm sorry to display such a lack of trust, but you know, I just have a hard time believing that someone who suffered an, um... what did they decide to call it again? An animal attack?" Chuckling at Lydia's start of surprise, Kate nodded. "Yeah. That. I'm having a hard time you survived that without any sort of supernatural consequence whatsoever."

"If you think I'm handing over my phone for a total stranger to examine, you really are crazy," Lydia said with a contemptuous sniff. "My own mother knows better than to touch it."

"Oh, I'm not your mother, child." Kate seized Lydia's wrist in an iron grip. Unfortunately for her, she grabbed the wounded one. Reeling from the pain exploding like fireworks through her nerves, Lydia screamed.

Stiles burst through the door before the sound faded. "Lydia? What the hell happened?"

Allison ran in on his heels. "What's wrong? Why—Aunt Kate?"

"You? Stay away from me," Lydia spat out at Kate, cradling her wrist in her other hand. "If you put one finger on me again, the assault charges I'll lay will be the least of your issues. You do _not_ want to piss off my father."

Oddly, Kate seemed excited by the prospect. "Ooh, is Daddy gonna come and teach me a lesson?"

"Aunt Kate!" Allison exclaimed. "Lydia, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"I took a picture of your boots." Lydia shoved her phone's screen outward, displaying the footwear for all to see. "Apparently that's on par with grand theft auto in the Argent household. See you tomorrow, Allison. Go to hell, _Katie_."

Nose in the air, she snatched up her purse and books and stalked from the room.

About a minute after she got into the Jeep, Stiles joined her, face set with fury. "Let me see it." Wordlessly, she held out the phone. He brushed it aside. "Not that, your wrist."

Once again, it had bled through the gauze and tape. When Stiles peeled it away, they saw that the wound beneath had split wider.

"Fucking bitch," Stiles breathed out.

"She really is," Lydia agreed, still sick with pain and rage. "But forget her, because I got the information we need." Smearing her oozing cut on everything she was wearing, she added, "And I'm going to send her the bill for my dry cleaning. So there's that. Let's get away from these freaks and go see some werewolves. Once I've changed, of course."

"Oh, of course," Stiles said, and turned the key in the ignition.


	9. A Convincing and Logical Case as to the Error of Their Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two occasionally blue-eyed males visit Lydia's bedroom, with differing results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to FatedFeathers, grrlinterrupted, and einfach_mich for their prereading and general amazingness.
> 
> I still don't own Teen Wolf, damn it.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Scott said, jumping to his feet as Lydia and Stiles rushed down the stairs.

“Me too,” Stiles answered, turning to steady Lydia down the rickety last couple of steps. “But Lydia made me stop.”

“Until we invest in a microwave at the very least, someone has to make sure you’re not too weakened by starvation to fight.” Lydia put the food on a pallet and then waved a sheaf of photos at them. “Besides, I needed to get prints of the pictures I took so I could translate.”

Derek stepped out from the shadows. “You got the information?”

Lydia’s heart thumped at the sight of him. She frowned in response, and then nearly groaned when she remembered he had heard it, and so had Scott. “Hopefully, yes.” Avoiding his eyes, she looked around for someplace to sit and settled on the crate she’d used before. “I’m not sure yet, though.”

“It’ll take her a moment to translate the archaic Latin.” Stiles grabbed some chicken nuggets and sat down to eat.

“A moment.” Derek sounded like he was trying not to laugh, but when she peeped at him from beneath her lashes she saw only his usual intensity. “To translate archaic Latin.”

“I got bored with classical Latin. I’m sure you know the feeling.” Spreading out the sheets on her lap, she gazed at the words. “Some of these words are out of order, like the person who was copying them didn’t speak the language. Honestly, what use is a bestiary if you can’t read what it says?”

“People used to hire scribes all the time,” Stiles said, edging closer to look. “It might’ve been that the Argents hired one who didn’t understand on purpose, to hide their secrets.”

“They certainly don’t take overly good care of their ancient manuscripts,” Lydia grumbled. “Some of the creases in these pages... the books should be in a glass case in a climate controlled room. Not thrown into Allison’s closet like shoes she doesn’t want anymore.”

“Maybe she _doesn’t_ want them anymore,” Scott said around a mouthful of fries.

“This keeping secrets stuff is so—” A drop of blood fell from Lydia’s wrist, right onto the middle of the page in the photo. “Dammit. Stiles, can you give me a napkin?”

Derek already had one ready for her before Stiles could rifle through the bags. “That looks worse,” he observed as she blotted the drop from the photo.

“It is, thanks to Allison’s complete fascist of an aunt.”

Grabbing her hand, Derek pulled it to his nose, which wrinkled in disgust. “Kate.” That same flash of strong emotion crossed his face, but this time Lydia recognized it for what it was, because she shared it: terror.

Ignoring the way her stomach flip-flopped at the sensation of his breath against her skin, she nodded. “That woman is unbalanced. I don’t understand how Allison and she can be so close, unless it’s because Allison spent so much time moving that she never got to have a friend who wasn’t related to her before.” Lydia tugged her hand away from Derek, making the move as nonchalant as possible. “At least I’m prepared. I’ve started taking bandages with me everywhere I go.”

She retrieved the first-aid kit from her purse, but when she would have tried to fix things with one hand, Scott said, "Here, let me." She braced her hurt arm on her knee, studying the Latin while he worked.

"All right, it's called a kanima."

Derek sucked in his breath between his teeth. Looking up from Lydia's arm, Scott asked, "You know what that is?"

"I've heard a few stories." For the first time since Lydia had met him, Derek seemed to be searching for the right words. "It's a shape-shifter, like us, but it's... not right. Like..."

He fell silent, but Stiles finished the sentence for him. "Like an abomination."

Derek nodded.

"So it's something that went wrong at some point." Lydia peered at the words. "Something about strength... Okay, its powers are at their height at the full moon, which explains the picture."

"Like us," Scott said, cutting the tape with his teeth.

"It even compares it with werewolves. At least, I think that’s what ‘skin of the wolf’ means. In this line, it says that unlike werewolves, it doesn’t seek a pack, it seeks a master.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows at that. “A master.”

“Someone’s controlling it.” Stiles sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “And who would want Mr. Lahey dead?”

“Isaac,” Lydia answered.

“Maybe not, though,” Scott argued. “People who are being abused like that don’t _always_ want the person hurting them to die.”

Stiles spread his hands in query. “Who else, then? I never knew Mr. Lahey.”

“No idea.” Derek drummed his fist against his thigh, staring at nothing. “I should get Isaac Lahey.”

“Get him,” Stiles said, flat-voiced. “Like, just, get him out of jail get him. Sure, no problem.”

Scott put the bandaging materials back in Lydia’s purse and reached for the food. “Why would we do that?”

“Well, he could be the kanima." The word left Derek's mouth sounding as if it tasted bitter. "We don't know who else Peter might have bitten. If the kanima is like us, maybe it's a transition gone wrong. Or, he could be its master. Either way, the police won't be able to get to the truth, but we might be."

 _We_ , Lydia noted, irritated with the pleasure the association gave her. "So. How do we do that?"

"Not you. Me."

"In case you forgot, you're wanted for murder," Scott pointed out. "And jails have video cameras."

Derek shrugged. "They can't identify me if I'm—"

“Wait. Stiles, has your dad actually charged Isaac?” Lydia tapped her fingers on her knee as she thought.

“No.” Stiles’ expression slid into sheepishness. “He totally doesn’t think Isaac did it, he just thinks that whoever did kill Mr. Lahey must’ve had Isaac’s best interests in mind, so he was hoping whoever it was would step forward out of worrying for Isaac. Plus, it’s kind of awful because their house isn’t even close to being paid off and his dad didn’t have much life insurance, and they don’t have any living relatives, so he’s probably going to end up in foster care.”

Lydia picked through the pronouns and thought she understood. “So this is just a delaying tactic. Fine. I’ll call my dad and ask him to send over his lawyer long enough to get Isaac out, because technically they shouldn’t have been able to hold him this long without charging him. That way Derek doesn’t have to endanger himself and I’ll be sure to be there to pick Isaac up.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed to one thick line of disapproval. “You can’t just hire an attorney for a stranger who might be a killer mutant.”

“Mm.” Lydia accepted a grilled chicken nugget from the bowl Stiles extended to her. “Better ideas? Anyone? I didn’t think so.”

“Can you do it day after tomorrow?” Stiles asked. “I have to take the Jeep into the shop tomorrow afternoon.”

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a very good plan to leave Isaac in the jail. What if he ends up hurting your dad, or one of the other cops?”

He blanched. “Good point.”

“So you’ll bring him here, after school, by yourself,” Derek said, as if she hadn’t just laid out the plan.

“Yes. And?” Avoiding his eyes, Lydia picked up another chicken nugget.

“You’re going to be alone in the car with someone we think might have murdered people.”

Suddenly, she understood that the matter-of-fact tone of voice meant that Derek was absolutely furious. “It’s not as if he _knows_ I think he might have done it. He’ll be grateful for getting out of jail.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Someone who you don’t think should stay _in a jail_ because he might be too dangerous _for the cops_ is going to be in your fucking _car_?”

He made a good point, but Lydia didn’t want to hear it. “It won’t be a full moon, and it’s not as if _I’ve_ locked him up in a freezer or a jail cell. He had good reason to attack his father, assuming that’s what happened.”

“You’re not going alone.”

Scott and Stiles had been making themselves look smaller and smaller during the course of the discussion, but now Stiles dared to interject. “I could go with you.”

“No.” Derek’s eyes were having a hard time staying green, rather than glowing blue, but he closed them for a second, breathed deep, and then opened them again to display fully human colors. Which, Lydia was displeased to note, didn’t make them any less beautiful. “I’m going back with you tonight, Lydia, and then I’m coming with you when you get Isaac.”

Lydia stared, hoping her opinion of this idiocy came through loud and clear. “You can’t leave here. Especially not with Peter dropping into my bedroom like it’s his own.”

“Mm.” He started gathering up the images. “I’m going to want to study these later so I’ll bring them along.”

“You are _not welcome_ in my bedroom.” Shooting to her feet, Lydia looked to Scott and Stiles for help. “Tell him he can’t do this!”

Scott stuffed a burger as big as his fist into his mouth and then gestured helplessly, as if he couldn’t be expected to speak under the circumstances. Stiles said, “But he has fangs. I hate telling people they can’t do things when they have fangs.”

“I might not have fangs, but I can make you wish you were dead just as well as he can,” Lydia pointed out, but he remained unmoved through the next fifteen minutes, picking up the things they needed, gesturing Derek and Scott out, helping Lydia up the stairs as she continued to harangue him, and then securing the door behind them with the big padlock he’d bought while she got the photos. Even when the Jeep wouldn’t start and Scott had to push it so Stiles could pop the clutch, none of the boys so much as flinched while she made a convincing and logical case as to the error of their ways.

“I hate you,” she groaned once they were on the road, burying her face in her hands. “Men. You are all such jerks.”

“Maybe, but we’re jerks who want you to keep your skin intact instead of looking like a Ginsu infomercial,” Stiles replied.

Scott nodded. Derek only stared out the back window without speaking, eyes blue.

"What are you looking for?" Lydia finally asked.

"Peter. Alphas can mask their scent so I'm more likely to see him than smell him."

She considered that for a moment. "Basically I'm getting the impression that being Alpha is the best and being a beta is for suckers."

"No." He turned his head to look at her, dead serious. "There's nothing worse than being alone. Nothing. It's better to be one of a dozen betas than to be an omega."

The words triggered a realization. "That's why you didn't want to believe he could kill your sister on purpose. It would mean you had to choose between staying an omega, the way you were after she died, or being a beta to a murderer." A muscle in his jaw flexed, but he didn't answer. She pressed anyway. "Was it that awful, being an omega?"

The silence stretched on so long that Stiles started to speak, but he snapped his mouth shut when Derek said, "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

* * *

Persuading her father to let her use his lawyer to get a teenaged delinquent out of jail proved more difficult than Lydia had anticipated.

"I won't do it unless you can convince me it's worth my while."

Gritting her teeth, Lydia offered, "Wednesday nights from four till nine for the next month."

He scoffed. "Wednesday nights from four till ten and Memorial Day, all day."

Lydia knew her dad's definition of "all day" started at six a.m., which would necessitate spending the night beforehand. "Noon till eleven on Memorial Day."

“Ten till midnight and I get you on two Friday nights of your choice.”

“One Friday night.”

"Done. I'll send Todd by first thing in the morning."

Infusing her voice with saccharine, she said, "Thank you, Daddy."

He gave a sardonic laugh. "Anything for my little girl."

Hanging up the phone, Lydia turned to see Derek sitting on her bed, staring as if she were an alien species.

"What?" she asked.

"You and your dad use your time as currency."

"And?" She realized it was unusual, but she didn't think it warranted this much confusion.

He laughed, though he didn't look amused. "Nothing. I guess I've forgotten how families—nothing."

Lydia decided she didn't want to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Instead she said, "Since you made the decision to come over without consulting me, I'm sure you won't mind sleeping on the floor."

"I expected you to make me sleep on the roof."

Damn it, why hadn't she thought of that? "Fine. I'm going to get ready for bed."

He rose to walk to the window and peered out from behind the curtain without bothering to answer.

Once she had showered, she got into bed and clicked off the lamp. The last thing she saw before she drifted off was the glow of Derek's eyes, watching the darkness.

The homeless man stood at the foot of her bed, and the blue-eyed boy stood behind him with a smile she didn't trust.

Lydia swallowed, and asked through lips as dry as parchment, "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything?" the boy replied. He patted the homeless man's shoulder. "It's already done."

"If it's done, then why are you with me?" Lydia sat up, trying to look as dignified as she could in a blue lace-edged negligee.

He gave her a surprised look. "You're the one who wanted to see us. It's just as well; I'm not sure how long this one will stay."

"Where are you going?" Lydia asked the homeless man.

He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His head began to shake, _no no no_ , and then it blurred with the speed of the denial, still completely silent.

The blue-eyed boy laughed.

"Get out of my room," Lydia ordered. He didn't move. She screamed, "Get out get out get out _get out—"_

"Lydia!"

Blinking, she looked up into Derek's face. "Make him stop," she begged. "He keeps coming in and I can't keep him out—"

"Who?" he demanded. "What the hell is going on? Why are you hurting yourself?"

"Hurting..." She followed his gaze to see him holding her hand. Her bloodied, embedded with glass hand. "What happened?"

"You just got up and punched your mirror like you hated your own reflection," he said. "I didn't realize what you were about to do till it was too late."

Lydia nodded, trying to hide the fact that she was completely terrified and probably failing miserably. "I-I guess I should clean it."

"I think I've watched Scott do it often enough at this point that I can help. Come on."

Together, they went to the bathroom. Derek used tweezers to remove shards of glass too small for Lydia's eyes to catch. After they had finished bandaging her knuckles, Lydia went back to her room and started picking up the pieces of her mirror, trying to ignore the way her hands shook. Derek joined in, carrying the frame downstairs and returning with a small wastebasket for the rest.

When that was done, he sat down next to her on the bed and said, "Tell me what you saw."

Gaze fixed on her hands, she related the dream, although she was starting to think maybe it wasn't a dream at all.

Derek sat quiet for a moment, and then said, "We can't keep letting him hurt you like this."

"I can't think of a way to keep him out," she whispered.

"I'm starting to think that as long as he's alive, he's going to have a path into your head." He brushed the back of her hurt hand, so lightly that she didn't even wince. "I'm going to have to kill him."

Lydia turned her hand under his touch to grasp his fingers. "You can't keep saying you'll kill the people who hurt me."

"Mm." Derek leaned over and nuzzled that one particular spot where her neck and shoulder met.

Freezing, Lydia asked, "What are you doing?"

"You smell like him." He nudged her jaw with his cheek, tilting her head farther back. "Like he's all over you. It's pissing me off."

"I'm not overly fond of it myself." Lydia heard her voice, steady as a rock, and wondered how it stayed that way when her insides were quivering into a jellied mess.

One hot hand slid up her thigh; the other buried itself in her hair to hold her steady as he nipped his way up to her ear. Gasping, Lydia overlaid his fingers with her own. He stopped, but didn't move away. They sat, paralyzed by her indecision, until Derek spoke.

"Let me?"

She could feel the anger and eagerness shivering into her skin through his fingertips.

"Lydia." His tongue traced the outer curve of her ear. "Let me do this." The hand on her thigh inched higher. "It’s driving me crazy. You smell like you belong to him."

Since she couldn't smell anything of the sort, Lydia knew it was a ridiculous thing to resent, but she hated it. She gave a minute nod, and Derek kissed her mouth in response, interrupting the contact just long enough to yank the hem of her negligee over her head. She barely had time to think _I hope he didn’t rip anything, that’s silk,_ before he pushed her back onto the mattress and covered her body and she forgot to worry about it.

“You’re too dressed,” she pointed out.

“It’s the only way I’m keeping some control right now.” He caressed her breasts, pushing them together to rub his face between them before sucking on the inner slopes. She _loved_ the feel of his whiskers abrading her skin.  “Probably a bad idea to take anything off.”

Well, _that_ was flattering. Lydia ran her fingers through his hair, arching up and squirming with pleasure that skirted on the edge of pain. Every way he touched her was so incautious, no worries about being gentle because she was a girl or because she was human, and that turned her on more than any practiced moves or perfected techniques. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so controlled.”

“No?” He sank his teeth into her nipple, just enough to make her whimper. “Maybe you’d like to be the one in charge instead?”

Before she could answer, he flipped them over, arranging her legs on either side of his waist while he pulled her up to kiss her again, all impatient mouth and hands. Lydia rubbed herself against him, delighted by the hard muscle and soft skin at her disposal, letting her palms smooth under his shirt to rediscover the body she’d fantasized about far too often for her own peace of mind.

Derek sucked on her neck, as if he could wipe the taste of Peter from her body. Maybe he could. He was right about her preferring being on top; she’d been in control of so little of what happened in her life over the past few days that having a big werewolf surrendered to whatever she wanted made her feel like she’d gotten back a little of her own. Scooting up, she interlaced her fingers with his and pressed them to the bed above his head. “I’m in charge?”

He nodded, but she caught the flash of wariness as it crossed his features.

“So you’ll do whatever I want?”

Now he just looked intrigued.

“Excellent.” She climbed up to his shoulders, let go of his hands, and straddled his face.

For one fraction of a second, a cold rush of fear made her wonder if she’d been too bold, but then he growled and grabbed her thighs to pull her down and lick between her legs.

“God!” Lydia reached for her headboard and held on for dear life. Derek’s tongue was a miracle when it wasn’t halfway to being a werewolf’s. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, either, taking long swipes over and over again as if he couldn’t get enough. Her legs started to tremble within seconds. His lips closed around her clit, and she had to bite the heel of her hand to keep the helpless sounds she made contained.

When he pulled back, she could hear the smile in his voice. “You taste—” He licked her again, and dipped the tip of his tongue inside her. Lydia flinched. “ _So_ good.”

“Go back and do that again,” she begged.

He obeyed, rubbing her clit with his thumb at the same time. Lydia writhed above him, then worried about hurting him before she remembered he was practically impervious. The sensations from his mouth were almost too intense, making her lungs strain for air and her head spin while she ground down on him.

“I’m so close,” she breathed, feeling the familiar spiral of excitement begin to draw tight.

He groaned in response, and she squeaked at the vibration. His tongue moved faster.

Lydia hovered on the precipice of her orgasm, not quite ready to tip over the edge. She squirmed, trying to find something to get her where she wanted to go. As if he could sense her frustration, Derek reached up and stroked her arm, offering comfort with the gesture, and for some reason the completely non-sexual touch was what did it. Clamping down on either side of his face, she cried out, forgetting to muffle the sound while her body shuddered. With unsteady movements, she slid bonelessly to his side and kissed him.

“You smell like yourself now,” he noted. “And I do too.” The satisfaction thrumming in his voice made her feel dangerous things, so she concentrated on kissing him again. Derek kissed her back, but he didn’t move to take off his clothes, which displeased her enough to turn her face away.

“Take these off.” She started on the button of his jeans. Derek didn’t help. She glanced up in inquiry. “What? _That_ —” She indicated the erection currently creating a painful-looking bulge next to his fly. “Is a pretty good indicator that you’re still interested.”

“Of course I want you.” He spoke with a brusque impatience that was oddly flattering. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea. Sex has repercussions.”

“I’m on birth control, and you literally can’t get sick, so I’m not seeing the issue here.” Lydia succeeded in freeing the button from its hole and drew down his zipper.

“That’s not what I—fuck.” He slammed his head back against the mattress, veins bulging in his neck as she wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Lydia ran her thumb over the already-slick tip and smiled. The transparency of men and their wants was one of the most endearing things about them. “That’s the idea, yes.”

He looked like he would rather argue, but a few pumps of her hand later, he sat up to pull his shirt off over his head.

 _Finally,_ Lydia thought, and rolled over to wait for him. _Some people are just too stubborn for their own good._


	10. The Ultimate Beta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac says his piece, and Lydia loses her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for prereading my nonsense.
> 
> Teen Wolf still isn't mine.

“He’s not coming out.”

Lydia took a deep breath and expelled the urge to scream with the exhale. “Yes. He is. Paperwork takes time.” She leaned over and swiped at the windshield of her car with one pink-gloved hand. Werewolf breath fogged up the glass even faster than human.

He must have been able to sense her frustration, but Derek pushed regardless. “Who’s to say DCFS won’t be there waiting?”

“My dad’s attorney made sure it was a surprise. They won’t have someone there to take Isaac’s case in time, even if the sheriff calls now.” Forcing herself to stop being such a coward, she turned to face him. He met her gaze directly for once, and her toes curled in response. “Stop worrying this to death. Concentrate on keeping an eye out for your evil uncle.”

The way he smiled was so different from what she was used to. His mouth barely moved, but all of a sudden his whole face relaxed and little lines appeared next to his eyes and her pulse quickened in response. “I’m not so sure you wouldn’t see him first.”

“He was so creepy last night.” She frowned at the thought. “I wish—”

“Don’t think about it now.” He edged closer, wrapping the ends of her hair around one hand. “I’m worried he’ll feel it.”

“Is that like speak of the devil?” Despite her firm admonishments to herself otherwise, Lydia found herself leaning into Derek’s touch.

“He’s not too different.” Derek’s voice had gone rough, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the subject or her proximity until his other hand slid along her waist, pulling her closer across the gap between their seats. She expected him to move the hem of her dress up, but instead he pressed his face to her neck and breathed against her skin.

That feeling in her chest was _not_ her heart melting.

Nope.

That would be a stupid, idiotic, teenaged girl thing to do, to fall for a guy due to a trick of sex hormones too primitive to realize she didn’t need to breed with the most likely male prospect.

Lydia found herself stroking the back of his head with one hand while her other arm curved around his shoulders, holding him closer. After another breath, he pulled her over to straddle his lap. It was a tight fit, and he already barely squeezed into the passenger seat, but they managed as long as she didn’t lift herself up too high.

“We’re going to miss it when he finally does leave the station,” she said into Derek’s shoulder. Her arms snuggled beneath his jacket of their own accord.

“No, I’ll hear him.” He sounded distracted, probably because he was unbuttoning the back of her dress under her sweater.

Lydia sat up to give him a scolding look. “I don’t think getting arrested for indecent exposure just as our target is getting out of jail is the most effective plan.”

“You’re right. We should have tried it before.” Completely undeterred, he ran his hands over her bared skin. “Let’s practice for next time.”

 _Boys._ Even when they were men, they were all boys. Lydia shook her head, even though the feel of him hardening under her almost convinced her otherwise. Sliding back into the driver’s seat, she ordered, “Button those back up. I don’t want to be worrying about my neckline gaping open while we’re questioning Isaac. Although of course I’m not sure exactly _how_ to question him.”

“His bike was in that alley where the kanima came out. Even if it’s not him, he saw something.” Nimble fingers had the buttons back in place before he finished speaking.

“Right, but I—oh, finally.”

At the same moment, Derek said, “There he is.”

Pulling her sweater straight, Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder and started the engine.

Isaac blinked in the sunlight, as if his eyes needed to adjust. Beside him, her father’s attorney spoke, but Isaac acted like he didn’t hear, staring down the road with a blank expression. The attorney clapped him on his shoulder and got into his BMW to drive away. After a second of obvious confusion, Isaac began to trudge down the sidewalk, shoulders slumped, hands jammed into his jacket pockets. For such a tall guy, he certainly managed to make himself look small.

Pulling alongside him, Lydia called, “Isaac?”

He kept moving forward, stumbling every few steps.

“Look... smaller or less threatening or something,” Lydia hissed to Derek. He gave her a wide-eyed, insincere smile. “Never mind, that’s terrifying.” Raising her voice, she tried again. “Isaac? I’m Lydia Martin. That was my dad’s lawyer who just got you out of jail.”

He stopped, but kept his eyes directed to the pavement. “I know who you are.”

After checking her rear view, Lydia stopped too.

“Get him in the car,” Derek said, soft-voiced.

Ignoring him, Lydia leaned out the window a little farther. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

Isaac shrugged.

“Can I give you a ride?”

He scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot, but just as she was about to press, shrugged again and shuffled across the street to get into her back seat. Huddling into the corner, he pulled his hood up.

Lydia decided not to bother him about his lack of seat belt. If they got in an accident and his hurtling body decapitated hers she hoped Derek would appreciate the irony. “This is Derek.” Derek glared at Isaac, not attempting to hide any of his mistrust or suspicion. Fortunately Isaac still wasn’t looking at either of them. “How are you doing?”

Isaac played with the strings of his hoodie. “Okay, I guess. Jail sucked.”

The sound of his voice gave Lydia a jolt, but it wasn’t for the reasons she’d expected. It was quiet, but also vulnerable. Like Scott had said, he seemed meek. “I’m sure. Especially considering what you were already going through.”

At last, he looked up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. Lydia released a slow breath through pursed lips. Isaac’s eyes were wounded, like an animal beaten too many times, but they weren’t the right kind of terrified to belong to a killer, even the sort who killed in self-defense.

After a few minutes, Isaac asked, “Where are we—where are we going?”

“We’re going to the place where Derek is staying. Unless you want to go to your house?” Probably either would work.

“No. I don’t have... I don’t have my keys or anything. I’d have to break in and... I guess eventually I have to get my clothes...” He subsided in confusion, pink tinting his cheekbones.

Yeah. No way had this guy killed anyone. He probably had to talk himself through choosing an outfit in the morning, let alone making the cold-blooded decision to murder his own father. Unfortunately, she knew Derek wouldn’t buy her intuition as a valid pardon.

When they pulled up to the abandoned train station, Isaac followed them into the building without saying anything, but as soon as they descended the stairs he stopped short, looking around with confusion. “What is this place?”

“Derek’s... den. Just a second, I need to have a word with him.” Lydia grabbed the hem of Derek’s leather jacket and tugged. He glowered at Isaac, but allowed her to pull him into a corner. Once she was relatively certain they were out of earshot, she turned to face Derek and whispered, “You are _not_ going to terrify that boy.”

“He’s a potential killer.”

“Are you high right now?” He jerked his head down to give her an offended stare. She gave one right back. “He didn’t kill his dad! He’s so scared of taking any sort of initiative he barely lets himself breathe without permission.”

Now Derek just looked confused. “How do you know that? I thought you weren’t friends.”

“We’re not; that’s how I didn’t understand him before this. Look at him.” She lifted her chin at Isaac, who was looking with interest at the train car but hadn’t moved a step. “He let two strangers—or, nearly strangers—pick him up from the side of the road and take him wherever they wanted. Does that strike you as anything like a vicious murderer? Or a lizard?” How could she put this in terms he would understand? “He’s a _beta_. Like, the ultimate beta. One who’s had an abusive alpha. If you go after him, he’s going to act like a dog who’s been kicked.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, but his expression cleared. Glancing over her head at Isaac, he said, “All right. How should we question him, then?”

“Let me handle it.” She patted his chest and walked to Isaac again.

“I’m sorry about that. Why don’t you have a seat?” He sank down to the floor, not without some hesitance. Looking around for a safe place to sit, she settled for her usual crate, but Derek brought over a pillow and dropped it on the wooden slats before she could finish the action. Lydia ignored him. “Isaac, did you know I was there, the night your dad was murdered?”

Staring at his interlaced fingers, he shook his head, then nodded.

“I know you were there, too.” She leaned toward him, trying to catch his gaze with her own. “Isaac, I saw something that night.” He flinched. “Something really, really weird.” His breathing sped up. Behind her, Lydia sensed Derek moving closer, probably worried by Isaac’s other vital signs. “Did you see what I saw? Did you see the thing that killed your dad?”

Shoulders heaving, Isaac nodded again, and then in a move that made her start back with its suddenness, he hugged his knees to his chest and pressed his face to them.

Lydia softened her tone. “We’re trying to figure out why it would kill him. Do you know why?”

“It was my fault.”

The sobbed confession, barely audible through layers of cloth and skin, had Derek taking a step forward, but Lydia reached around to grab his leg. He stopped. She prompted, “It was?”

“That night. My dad. He—he got mad, because my grades aren’t good. He said I was wasting time digging graves, I was digging my _own_ grave, and he, um...” Raising his head, Isaac traced the fading red mark on his cheek. “He got mad,” he said again. “So I left. Sometimes if I leave he calms down. He came after me in the car this time. To pick me up, I think. I rode down the alley and then I ditched my bike so I could climb up a fire escape.” Falling silent, he pressed his lips together into a quivering line. Two tears trickled down his face.

Derek spoke, but to Lydia’s surprise his tone was gentle. “What happened on the fire escape?”

“My dad got out of the car, and he was calling me, and I was so _mad_.” Isaac’s voice broke on the last word, and he sobbed. “I was so pissed off that he wouldn’t just leave me alone, he had to come after me, and I had to go home with him so he wouldn’t be _more_ angry but he’d just do it all over again, and then, for a second I thought _I wish he would just fucking die because then I’d never have to go through this again,_ and this shadow on the wall over my head _jumped_. I realized it was an animal, but a freaky one. It turned to me and then it looked at my dad and it was like it read my mind, because it just took off, after him. And the next thing I knew—”

He began crying in earnest. “It came back, after it killed him. I was sitting on the fire escape because I saw you and Stiles there and I was scared to move. If I didn’t look, maybe it wouldn’t be real. But it came back. On the rail. It held out its hand like it wanted me to touch it, so I did, because I didn’t want to make it upset, and then I saw pictures in my mind of it slicing my dad and it was as if the thing wanted me to be proud of it. But I wasn’t. I didn’t know just _wishing_ my dad was dead would make it happen. It seemed confused, like, it hissed, and then it left. Leaped away. I didn’t even see where it went.”

His face was a mess, blotchy and wet with tears and snot. Looking up at Derek, she saw his habitual scowl firmly in place, but she was starting to think that was his fallback expression. Lydia sat still, unsure of what course of action to pursue now that she had the answers she needed. How could she make Isaac stop bawling?

Well, Scott seemed to be relatively accomplished at dealing with hurting things. What would he do? Picturing him in the situation helped. Pulling some Kleenex from her purse, she leaned forward and offered it to Isaac. When he took it, she put one hand on his knee and said, “It wasn’t your fault.” Derek made a noise of disbelief. She narrowed her eyes at him and repeated, “It wasn’t.”

“How is it not his fault?” Derek demanded.

Honestly. Rolling her eyes, Lydia stood to face him so she wouldn’t hurt her neck. “The kanima seeks a master. Someone to point it in the right direction. It wanted Isaac’s approval for what it did. When it didn’t get that, it took off. Isaac isn’t controlling it. So, either it’s still looking for a master, or...”

“Or it’s found one. Someone different,” Derek finished.

“So. Not Isaac’s fault.” She patted the boy’s head the way she would have Prada’s. For a second, he leaned into her leg, just like the dog. _Such_ a beta.

Derek’s gaze followed the motion of her hand, and his mouth twisted. After a disgusted huff, he asked, “So who are we looking for? And stop petting him.” Isaac jerked away as if he’d been burned.

Lydia shook her head and stroked Isaac’s hair again just to make a point, ignoring the little pang of delight Derek’s jealousy sent through her. “I have no idea.”

* * *

_Derek reached down to hook one of her legs around his hip, never stopping the steady grinding motion into her. The new angle made her dig her nails into his shoulders when his cock hit exactly the right spot._

_“Oh my God,” she groaned._

_Sweat dripped down his forehead as he gazed down at her. She had no idea how he was lasting this long but if he didn’t make it till she came again she was going to have to kill him. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry._

_“Lydia.” He buried one hand in her hair and turned her head so he could kiss her temple._

_“Keep going,” she begged, feeling her muscles start to tighten around him. “Don’t stop.” Just a little bit longer..._

“Lydia.”

Had the blue-eyed boy ever said her name before? She closed her eyes more tightly and buried her head beneath her pillow. “Go away.”

“You’re awake. Come out and play.” One warm finger traced over the sole of her foot. “Or, actually, don’t. You’ve got work to do.”

Gasping, Lydia jerked upright and looked around her empty room. She checked her phone and saw that it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. One of the benefits of pleading sick to get a person out of jail was catching up on rest a werewolf had stolen. Or been given, rather.

She flashed back to Derek, dropping kisses all over her face until her cheeks tingled with beard-burn, still hard inside her even though he’d already come. The thud of her phone dropping from her lax grip to the floor brought her back to reality.

“I am _not_ going to go see him,” she announced to the empty room.

Except, she had to go to see him, because Stiles was supposed to be there and they had to talk to Stiles and Isaac together. Why couldn’t Derek just buy a phone like a normal person so they could conference call? What a Luddite. With a sigh, Lydia surrendered to the inevitable and went to brush her teeth before heading out the door to drive to the train station.

Which was why it was such a surprise to find her hand on the door of a mechanic’s garage.

Yanking her arm back to hold to her chest, she took a few steps back and looked up at the sign. Yes, this was a garage.

The door flew wide, and Stiles leaned out. “Hey! I was just about to call you.”

Lydia stared at him, open-mouthed.

“What’s wrong? Come inside.” He stepped out of her way. With uncertain steps, Lydia walked past him into the shop. “Are you okay?”

“I...” Lydia swallowed. “I think so?”

Clearly unconvinced, Stiles nodded. “So, I was going to let you know that this guy is taking forever. I mean, all he needs to do is replace the starter, but he keeps looking at stuff underneath the Jeep and—” The sound of a drill interrupted him. Spinning, Stiles looked through the window into the garage at the mechanic, a Ken-doll of a man in a grease-covered wife beater and half-buttoned coveralls, currently peering at the chassis. “Are you kidding me? Be right back.” He darted through the door connecting the tiny store slash waiting area. Lydia heard him calling, “Hey! Hey!” before it swung shut.

“Work to do,” she whispered, examining the shelves and their products for a clue. What could Peter have meant? On one wall, a framed picture of Mechanic Ken dressed in a Beacon Hills lacrosse uniform smiled at her. Pathetic. His time on the team had clearly been the highlight of his entire life.

Through the window, she saw Stiles turn away in disgust and stalk back toward her. When he opened the door again, he was muttering to himself. After calling over his shoulder, “Real quality establishment you’re running here!” he looked at her and asked, “Do you still have tissues in your purse?”

“You guys are going to owe me stock in Kleenex,” she grumbled, but pulled them out. When he took them from her hand, some of the clear goo on his fingers transferred to hers. “Gross! What _is_ that?”

“Hopefully it’s only lube,” he said, and then did a full-body start. “I mean, like, lube for the gears. Of a car. Or a Jeep. Not lube like for, uh...” His voice trailed off.

“It’s all right, I understand,” Lydia started, but then stopped when she followed his gaze into the garage. “What is it?”

“Th-the kanima,” he stuttered, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“ _What_?” Lydia ran to the window and pressed up against it, finally seeing what he had: a scaly, long-clawed hand up on the hydraulic lift. The rest of the creature’s body stayed in the shadows. “Hey!” she yelled, banging on the glass. “Run!” The mechanic ignored her, or maybe the sound of the drill drowned her out.

Behind her, she heard a tiny crack of plastic against cheap carpet, and then a heavy thud. Spinning, she gasped in horror. Stiles lay on the floor, near motionless. His phone rested a few feet away.

“Stiles, what happened?” Before he could answer, she realized, “The kanima. That stuff was from the kanima.” Her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor beside Stiles. He started dragging himself on his elbows toward his phone. She could still move her head, so she rotated it to look through the door. The mechanic now lay on the concrete below the Jeep, clearly as incapacitated as they. In front of her horrified eyes, the lift began to descend. She could hear a weak cry for help.

One beep from Stiles’ phone. Two.

The lift continued to drop with agonizing slowness.

“Stiles,” Lydia said. Her voice sounded strange, her lungs and vocal cords too weakened by the toxin to push the words out with their usual force. “Stiles, hurry.” She knew it was futile, though. No matter how fast he dialed, it was too late.

Three beeps. Four.

The lift touched the mechanic’s chest.

Lydia screamed, silently, as the voice on the phone said, “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

Stiles choked out the name of the garage. The mechanic’s eyes closed while the Jeep continued its inexorable lowering.

The kanima leaped to the window sill and hissed at them. If she’d had any capacity left for screaming, it would have exhausted itself then. But the creature leaped away without offering them any harm.

Lydia closed her eyes in relief, but opened them wide when the front door bell jangled. “Help,” she begged in a whisper. “Help him.”

Two black leather boots intruded on her field of vision. Peter Hale bent down to smile at her. “Oh, it’s too late for him, I’m afraid. His lungs have likely already collapsed under the pressure. And in any case, I’m sure he deserved it.” He stroked her hair. “Good girl. You’ve been very helpful. I’m even inclined to forgive you sleeping with Derek.” Standing upright again, he sniffed loudly enough for her to hear. “Well, that’s unfortunate, isn’t it? I’d hoped for a better trail.” With a sound of disgust, he walked past her to the door leading into the garage. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

Speechless, Lydia lay in impotent rage as the sound of sirens drew closer.


	11. Somebody Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles plays, Jackson makes demands, and Derek does not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to einfach_mich, grrlinterrupted and FatedFeathers for prereading. As ever, any mistakes are entirely my fault.
> 
> Teen Wolf isn't mine, which is most likely a good thing.

“Can you move yet?” Stiles whispered to Lydia from the next hospital bed over.

“I can wiggle my toes,” she whispered back.

“Me too. I think the goo doesn’t last as long as the cut to the back of the neck thing.”

Lydia stared at the ceiling tile above her head. One hundred and forty-three black flecks in this one, as opposed to one hundred and twenty-eight in the one next to it. Tears slipped down her temples and dampened her hair, but she couldn’t make herself care. “I can’t believe it killed him.”

“I know.” She heard Stiles’ sheets rustle, as if he were trying to fidget. “Who do you think would want him dead? Besides everyone he ever ripped off with his business, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. “He was on the lacrosse team when he was in high school.”

“In this town that’s reason for sainthood, not motive for murder.” More restless sounds. “What did Peter mean when he called you a good girl?”

“I have no idea, but...” She folded her lips in on themselves, afraid to admit what she feared, but then decided he had the right to know. “What if _I’m_ the one controlling the kanima? Both times it’s killed someone, I’ve been right there.”

“So have I, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t want either of those guys to actually die, so don’t think that way, Lydia.” _Tap tap tap._ Apparently he’d regained the use of his fingers. She wondered if he’d even noticed. “Maybe it has something to do with why you showed up at the garage in the first place.”

“I didn’t mean to come there,” she confessed. “I meant to go to the train station because I thought you’d be done with the mechanic’s.”

“I thought you looked pretty shocked when I opened the door.”

“I didn’t even realize I had driven there. But I think Peter knew I would. He woke me up from a nap and told me I had work to do.”

“And then he followed you. He’s tracking the kanima.”

Realization struck them both. “He wants to be the kanima’s master,” they said simultaneously.

“How would that happen?” Lydia asked. “Would he have to find it after the original master runs out of people he or she wants to kill?”

“Or maybe he just kills the person who’s controlling it now.” His voice had risen with excitement, but now he spoke more quietly. “I think it knew me. The way it looked at us, before it left. I think I know whoever it is.”

Thank God he’d said it first. “Me too.”

“Is it Jackson?”

Honestly. “Yes, behind the yellow eyes, slitted pupil and nictitating membrane, I saw the soul of my godlike ex-boyfriend,” she replied.

“No need to get snarky.” He paused. “Did it have a parietal eye?”

“I didn’t notice. Why?”

“No reason, I was just curious.”

Lydia smiled, even though there wasn’t much about the situation to amuse.

A new voice spoke. “Lydia.”

She gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Derek loomed over her, blocking out the fluorescent light. His hands roamed over her body, and he leaned closer, sniffing obviously enough that even her human ears could catch it. “I went to your house and followed your scent.”

“That was stupid,” she admonished, but couldn’t hide the smile trying to take over her face. “Have you heard anything about... I don’t know, anything?” Stiles had wanted her to lie and tell the police that they’d found the mechanic already dead, but she had flat-out refused. There were too many surveillance cameras everywhere and his dad wasn’t stupid enough to forego downloading footage to confirm their story.

“Nothing you don’t already know, probably, except that one of the deputies at the scene was paralyzed by the gel that got you two.” He smoothed her hair back, off her face, for which she was grateful because one particular strand had been tickling the corner of her mouth for ages.

“I warned them,” she said with dark satisfaction. “That’ll teach them to laugh just because I’m a teenaged girl.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth pulled up. “Only an idiot would ignore what you say.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m pissed that you didn’t stay put at the train depot. Where’s Isaac?”

“Scott’s with him. He wanted to come instead but I was faster this time.” He sighed. “The kanima killed someone else. An Argent man. They brought the body to Deaton to try to identify the thing that killed it, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t.”

“Advantage to us,” Stiles said.

Derek looked over to his bed and nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought. If we can figure out what or who ties the victims together, we might be able to find the kanima when it tries to kill again.”

“If it’s Jackson, you are _not_ murdering him,” Lydia said.

Derek wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Testing her stomach muscles, she found she could finally sit up. As soon as she did, Stiles followed suit. “Derek, I mean it. He’s an arrogant, insecure asshole, but he isn’t a natural killer.”

“I’ve been trying to remember what I know about the kanima.” Absentmindedly, he took her hand in his own, playing with her fingers. “I can’t think of much, but I do know that if you were an arrogant asshole in human life, that’s one of the reasons why you become one instead of a werewolf.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at the evasion and snatched her hand away, but Stiles spoke before she could. “And yet, _you’re_ a werewolf, so obviously it doesn’t always work like that.”

Derek started for his bed. Trying to distract him, Lydia said, “Forgive me if I don’t place much stock in hazy family tales with no research to back them. There doesn’t happen to be anything in your recollection about the inoculation effect probable from regular sexual contact with someone who’s immune to the bite, does there?” Reluctantly, he shook his head, scowl deepening. Lydia hid her amusement at the jealousy. “I didn’t think so. Can you think of anything useful?”

“They’re afraid of their own reflections. Literally, I mean.” Derek looked at her hand again, expression still dark, and then focused, grabbing it back to examine the skin.

“Do you mind?” she demanded, but then noticed what he had. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Stiles made his way over on unsteady feet. “What’s wrong with your hand? It looks fine.”

“That’s the point,” she whispered, turning it back and forth as if the scratches would reappear as magically as they had vanished. “It was really messed up just a few hours ago. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Derek replied. “How’s the other injury, from Peter?” Wordlessly, she held up her wrist, still bandaged, still showing black ooze through the gauze. “Goddammit.”

“This is so fucked up, and—shit!” Stiles flailed, fell to the floor, and scrambled back up again. “What time is it?”

Lydia pointed at the clock on the wall. “Five.”

“We’ve got a game tonight! I’ve gotta get to the field and my Jeep has been impounded.”

“I drove Lydia’s car here," Derek admitted.

Lydia considered getting mad about the overstepping, but then decided to ask, “How’d you manage that when the place was crawling with cops?”

He gave her a singularly wolfy smile. “My personal charm.”

Deciding it was better not to inquire further, Lydia took the keys he extended toward her. “Let’s get out of here. Derek, be sure you keep your face turned away from cameras.” At his suddenly frozen expression, she winced. “Seriously? You didn't think to do that on the way in? Ugh. Pull your collar up and duck your head. We’re lucky nobody apparently ever watches the security feed here.”

Two hours later, Lydia sat next to Allison on the bleachers, huddled into her coat and wishing she’d brought a hat.

“That Abramowitz guy is a freak of nature,” Allison said, biting her lip with concern as yet another Beacon Hills player succumbed to injury.

“There’s nothing natural about him.” At Allison’s look of inquiry, Lydia clarified, “Teeny tiny little balls, I’m sure.”

Allison let out a breath of laughter. “Not every huge guy uses steroids.”

“Given this particular huge guy’s obvious rage issues, I’m comfortable saying he does.” Below them, Lydia could see Scott’s mother, forehead wrinkled in worry, watching the game while talking to the kid who always had a camera up to his face. What was his name? Michael? Eh, who cared.

Allison sighed. “He’s vicious. I can’t believe they haven’t given him a penalty yet.”

Out on the field, Jackson and Scott were arguing. Lydia would have been willing to bet her college fund it was over whether or not Scott should use his werewolf powers in the game. Jackson was willing to use anyone and do anything if it meant winning. Scott kept shaking his head and glancing at Allison. The next play started. Within seconds, another player screamed in agony while lying unmoving on the ground, and Danny lay huddled in a ball, gripping his head with both hands.

“That’s a foul!” Lydia screamed, jumping to her feet along with half the crowd. “That was illegal body-checking, you jackass!”

“It’s okay, he’s okay,” Allison soothed, but her hand shook as she patted Lydia’s elbow. “Look, he’s getting up.”

“He’s probably concussed.” Lydia sat with a thump, hugging herself. “Not that that’ll stop Coach from sending him right back out.” Maybe Scott should listen to Jackson after all.

Coach held up two fingers in front of Danny’s face, then sent him onto the field and roared, “Stilinski!” Stiles leaped to his feet, expression equal parts terror and elation. “Get out there!”

“Oh, no,” Lydia whispered, watching him trot out to join his teammates.

“He’s on the team; he’s ready,” Allison said, but her uncertainty leaked into her tone.

“Ready for lacrosse, not ready for traction!” Lydia snapped anyway. “Oh God.” She clapped her hand over her mouth when the whistle blew. Somehow, everyone made it through the next play unhurt. Lydia turned away from the field to see Allison examining her with a small smile. “What?”

Allison lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Just... I didn’t know you cared that much about Stiles, is all.”

“Oh.” Lydia thought about it. “I guess I do.” How had that happened? She couldn’t even pinpoint when exactly they had become friends. “He’s much less annoying than most people.”

Stiles proved unexpectedly scrappy as a player, darting in and out to avoid the biggest hits while steadily moving toward the goal. He didn’t manage to score but he did manage to hold his own. Two plays later, though, Scott got a goal and a Beaver slammed into him, forcing him backwards while his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Everyone in the stands heard his bone snap.

“Oh shit,” Lydia breathed. When she glanced at Allison, the other girl was already gone, running out onto the field with the coach, players, and Ms. McCall close behind her. Lydia lifted her gaze to meet Stiles’. They shared a look of dread before turning to Scott.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted, hopping to his feet while both Allison and his mom tried to keep him still. “I’m fine, see? It’s okay.”

_Too late,_ Lydia wanted to tell him. _You should have faked a bad sprain at the very least._

Ms. McCall only seemed relieved, but, surveying Allison’s face, Lydia saw exactly what she’d feared. Confusion, along with slowly dawning suspicion.

* * *

Derek came to her room again that night, but when she silently offered him a side of the bed, he only shook his head and sat next to the window.

“I’m pretty sure you could watch just as well from here, given your nose and ears,” she said, trying not to pout.

He smiled without looking at her. “I can’t if I’m sleeping with you.”

“We’re not _both_ animals.” Lydia flopped back and stared at the ceiling. “I would be able to restrain myself from distracting you. Probably.”

The next thing she knew, the bed beside her lowered. Derek pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. Lydia turned her head to kiss the shoulder beneath it. After a moment, he said, “Maybe you should leave town.”

“Nice try, but you’re not going to get me out of your hair that easily. Leaving town won’t help with the sleepwalking act.”

“I don’t want you to go.” He buried his nose in her hair. “I only want you safe.”

“I want you safe, too,” she said, and couldn’t keep the sadness from her voice. “I don’t think we’re allowed to be.”

Derek turned her in his embrace until they spooned together without replying. She dreamed of having sex with him all night, and didn’t wake up until he kissed her.

“It feels early,” she mumbled against his lips. “What time is it?”

Moving his mouth to her jaw, he replied in between kisses. “Not sure. Your alarm clock’s broken for some reason.”

“Imagine that.” She turned her head to give him more room. “If you had a cell phone, you’d know what time it is. In fact, you should check that bag on my vanity.”

“Mm.” He ripped the covers back and replaced them with his body, cradling her in his arms as he opened his mouth over hers again. When they broke apart to breathe, he said, “I’ve been trying not to be a creeper and watch you while you slept, but it’s really hard when you’re wearing this thing.”

Not that she had put on the pale pink satin nightgown with that goal in mind, or anything. Trying to suppress her smile, she said, “Well, maybe you should go ahead and take it off, if it’s so distracting.”

“Your dimples give you away, you know.” He kissed both of them, then lifted the hem over her head. When he saw the matching sheer underwear beneath, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath before opening them again.

Sometimes she wanted to ask him how long it had been since the last time he slept with someone, but the reactions he gave her were such a turn-on that she always kept the question unspoken. She was already so wet that she could feel the slickness between her thighs. “I take it you like them.”

“That’s one word for it.” He gathered the chiffon at the top into a fist, and for a moment she thought she was going to have to snap at him to preserve the fabric—it was Jean Yu, for God’s sake—but he caught himself and instead smoothed the panties down past her ankles.

Kicking them away, Lydia wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him close. “Your turn. Take off these clothes,” she ordered. The fact that she had her face pressed to his neck, muffling her voice, somewhat diminished the effect of her words.

“If I do that, I’ll just start having sex with you,” he protested, as if it were a bad thing.

“I’m okay with that,” she said on a laugh, tugging at his shirt. “Come on. Let me drool over you a little.” He gave her a quizzical look, but obediently discarded it, quickly followed by the rest of his clothes. “That’s better.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he replied in a distant voice, looking her over again.

Damn it, there was that melting feeling again. She wondered if he even knew he’d spoken. Deciding to pretend he hadn’t, she twisted to her stomach beneath him. Once her ass pressed to his cock, she lifted her hips, silently offering. He slid into her with a distinct lack of finesse, but the ardor underlying the action made up for its roughness. One arm worked its way beneath her chest. His other hand slipped to her clit, rubbing in rhythm with his strokes.

Lydia closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the physical sensations and ignore everything else, pretend all of this was completely meaningless beyond the fact of sex, but Derek wouldn’t let her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about doing this with you,” he said, low-voiced, into her ear.

The confession sent a thrill of gratification through her body. Moaning, she shoved back into his thrusts.

He nipped her earlobe, then licked the same spot as if to soothe the sting. “Even when you’re gone, it’s like I can still feel you against my skin.”

_Too much,_ she wanted to tell him. It was all too much, the gentleness of his tone, the harshness of his grip, the exposure of his words. It made her stomach quiver and her bones weaken within her. _Don’t make yourself vulnerable to me._

What a stupid thing to think, naked and pinned beneath a werewolf.

“Lydia.” The name came out sounding like an endearment. He kissed the nape of her neck. His fingers moved faster on her clit.

God, he felt _so_ good. Lydia felt her orgasm coiling within her, almost ready to release.

“Lydia,” he said again, and kissed her cheek.

The tenderness of the gesture undid her. She came in a rush so powerful it left her aching and dazed. Cursing under his breath, Derek wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as he followed her over the edge.

When she could move, Lydia wiggled back to face him, pulling his mouth to hers. He kissed her back, but then said, “I think you might need to get up.” Another kiss. “Maybe not, though.” Another. “Let’s just stay here.”

Blinking, she turned her head away to see pale sunlight leaking between the curtains. Early, but not an ungodly hour. Derek sat up straight, asking, “Are you going to school?”

“I can’t keep missing it.” Never mind the fact that she was leagues ahead in all her subjects. She couldn’t afford to let her social status decline through absence. “Is Isaac still at the train station?”

“No. Scott brought him home. Apparently his mom is okay with taking in strays.”

“It’s probably safer for him, for the moment anyway.”

Derek caught her unspoken reservation. “What makes you say that?” Lydia told him about Scott breaking his leg the night before. “That’s dangerous.”

“If Allison’s parents had been there, it would have been even more dangerous. Let alone her virago of an aunt. I don’t think that woman waits for evidence before she goes for the kill.” That same terror flashed across his face, then was subsumed by his usual intensity. Lydia wanted to ask about it, but decided she didn’t have time to address any explanation he could give. “Go back to your lair. I need to get ready for school, and nothing will happen to me in broad daylight.”

He protested, but she pushed the bag from the cell phone store into his hands, pushed _him_ to the window, and slammed it in his face, though not before she allowed him one more kiss.

Three hours later, she regretted her own self-assurance when she turned away from the chalkboard in economics class, tears cooling on her cheeks, to behold every single member of the class staring at her. Stiles’ and Scott’s faces were so grim she almost didn’t recognize them. Afraid to see what they saw, she hurried back to her desk, head ducked in humiliation, and only got the courage to peek at the front of the classroom when she was safely hidden by the entire row of bodies in front of her.

A spiral of “SOMEONE HELP ME” decorated the board, but it was written in reverse. For some reason, Stiles took a picture of it and then showed the image to Scott on his phone.

Lydia sank into her seat, trying not to cry.

“What happened?” Stiles asked her at lunch.

“If I knew, maybe I could put a stop to it,” she replied, stabbing at her food with her fork without lifting it to her mouth.

Stiles and Scott exchanged a sober look. Scott asked, “Do you remember writing it?”

“No.” Let alone writing it _backwards_.

Stiles put his hand over hers, stopping the rhythmic motion. “So what do you remember?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

“No.”

She kept her gaze locked on their hands, curved together on the table. “I saw Peter. Young Peter, the blue-eyed boy. He always laughs at me and this time he did, too, but he looked angry, like I wasn’t doing what he wanted.”

Scott said, “Do you know what he wants?”

She shook her head. “No. I know he’s got a purpose for me, but I’m not sure what it is. Whatever he wants, though, I don’t think he’s getting it, or he’s not getting it fast enough.”

“We need to keep a closer eye on you.” Stiles seemed to realize he was holding her hand and casually moved his own back.

Lydia sighed. “Derek kept watch last night, but I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous. If Peter decides to visit, they’ll fight, and I haven’t seen anything to make me think Derek can beat him.”

Scott’s forehead creased as he thought. “I think maybe you should come over to my house. It’s a lot easier to keep watch when none of us need to make excuses about why we’re there.”

“Your girlfriend might not agree, especially considering—” Lydia stopped talking as both boys flushed and started avoiding each other’s eyes. “Well, you know.”

Stiles shrugged. “So we’ll bring Allison over too. We don’t have to let her know that it’s to protect you; we can just say we need to study.”

“Because I really, really need to study,” Scott said, surveying his stack of books on the table with a sigh of his own.

With that settled, Lydia retreated to the restroom to repair her eye makeup. She had barely dug her mascara out of her bag when Erica Reyes swaggered into the room and turned the lock behind her.

Lydia focused on keeping her hand and voice steady as she swiped her lashes with the wand. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much.” Erica hiked one hip up on the sink next to Lydia’s mirror and looked her over from head to toe. “I used to be so jealous of you.”

“Then I’m willing to bet this morning was a big relief,” Lydia replied, switching to the other eye. “No need to be jealous of the crazy girl with the automatic writing issue.”

Erica snorted. “Crazy isn’t such a problem.” She leaned closer, and sniffed. “Derek, on the other hand...”

Lydia raised her brows as she searched her bag for her eyeliner. “Derek is a problem?”

“I don’t understand why Peter wants you,” Erica mused, ignoring the interjection. “When you can have an Alpha, and you reek like a beta, that seems like a failure to appreciate your opportunities.”

“Maybe I don’t like competition.” Lydia drew a thin line across her lid. “A beta won’t try to take charge.”

“Won’t he?” With a casual motion, Erica shoved Lydia’s shoulder, spinning her around and pinning her to the wall. “There’s plenty of room for power dynamics in the lower levels of a pack, you conceited little bitch. And if I take you out, my way to Peter is clear.”

Lydia laughed in her face. “It already is. I. Don’t—” But then she cut herself off. If she admitted to Erica that she didn’t want Peter, it was the same as admitting it to Peter. “Think he wants me,” she finished.

“You’re lying,” Erica sneered, drawing closer until their fronts brushed together. “Werewolves can tell, you know.”

The lock _snicked_ back into its open position, and Scott threw the door wide. “Let her go.”

Erica gave him a sideways smile. “Don’t pretend she’s not just your backup, Scott.”

“I’m not joking, Erica. Let her go.”

After a moment’s consideration, Erica sauntered out, though she dragged one hand over Scott’s upper thigh as she went.

Panting with latent terror, Lydia snatched up her things and tried to duck past him, but Scott caught her elbow. “Are you all right?”

She shrugged off his grip. “I’m fine. Just tired of being manhandled by assholes.” He whipped his arm down, and she relented enough to add, “Not you,” before she went to class.

That night, she was actually grateful to be studying with Stiles, Allison, Scott, and Isaac. Sure, all of them knew about the monsters in the dark, whether or not they were admitting it to each other, and Scott wasn’t even human, but then again, Lydia was starting to wonder if she was human herself, so it was enough to _feel_ like a normal person again, albeit one with a genius I.Q.

“No,” she said, bending over Scott’s English homework. “Look, the whole point is that the slow times make the war _worse_ because it lets them have time to think about the things that are wrong. In action, they don’t have to address their own experiences. There is no downtime. Either they’re fighting or they’re coming to terms with what happened during the fight.”

“Right,” Stiles chimed in, pointing to one line in the book Scott held. “Why do you think Richie keeps trying to find meaning in Carroll’s death?”

“Because he’s worried his own death isn’t going to mean anything,” Isaac responded, soft-spoken as ever.

Stiles pointed at him. “Exactly, but also, I think Carroll’s death is a metaphor for the entire war. There isn’t any meaning in his death because there’s no meaning in the war, which is why this period without fighting is so brutal.”

“Except there _is_ meaning in his death because he fought for his friends,” Scott said. “The soldiers create their own meaning for the war through their relationships with each other.” At the sudden silence that fell, he looked around. “What?”

A knock on the door precluded any answer they might have made. Scott got up to answer it, and then came back with a strange expression. “Lydia, it’s for you.”

“What on earth?” She rose to her feet, trying to decipher his face. Could it be Derek? But since when had he ever knocked? Or waited?

When she turned the corner into the entryway, she nearly screamed.

Jackson stopped rubbing his forehead and dropped his hand to frown at her.

“What do you want?” she asked, moving closer, noting in spite of herself the circles under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. Taking care of Jackson had been her self-appointed job for a long time, and she was good at it.

His nose was pinched with strain. “Where’s my key?”

It was so out of the blue that she gaped. “Excuse me?”

“You never gave me my key.” He got into her space, looming over her.

“Wh-what? Your key?” She barely kept her hand from going to grasp it. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you ever give it back?”

“Are you kidding?” She tried to keep her voice level, mindful of all the listening ears in the next room, but she couldn’t entirely prevent fury from making her volume rise. “I’m attacked by some lunatic who bites both you and me—a lunatic, by the way, who still hasn’t been caught—I witness a couple of _murders,_ and you expect me to be worried about some stupid key?”

Suddenly, he looked tired. “So do you have the key, or not?”

Gritting her teeth, she met his gaze straight-on. “Not.”

He glanced up, to her hair, and then down to her cleavage. Instinctively, Lydia drew her jacket over her breasts, but he didn’t stop staring before he scoffed. “You just lied to me.”

_What?_ How could he be so certain? Unless... Erica’s words floated through her recollection.

A sudden motion behind Jackson caught Lydia’s eye. The others all stood grouped together in the doorway, waiting for her signal. She shook her head. Maybe they could learn something if she kept talking to him. Together, they withdrew out of sight.

“How did you know that, Jackson?” she asked.

Disregarding the question, he said, “It was you, wasn’t it? You edited the tape.”

Spinning to hide her expression, she focused on keeping her breathing steady. “What tape?”

“The night of the full moon.” His breath wafted across the back of her neck. For so long, she’d feel it there and be instantly, painfully aroused. When had it started making her skin crawl? “The recording? You came into my house—into my room—and you saw what was happening to me, so you took the tape from the camera and you edited out the most important part.” He sounded as if he were on the verge of hysteria. “I don’t know why. Maybe because you wanted to take that from me, my moment, like you take _everything_.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that bullshit,” Stiles said. “Get out, dickhead.”

Lydia faced him again and tried to get him to leave with a meaningful stare, but he ignored her this time. Jackson ignored _him_. “Or maybe you just thought you were protecting me, Lydia. But it was you, wasn’t it?”

Rolling her eyes, Lydia said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you need it so badly, fine.” Removing the chain from her neck, she held out his house key, dropping it into his outstretched hand. “Take it.” For some reason, getting what he wanted seemed to leave Jackson deflated. The revelation didn’t appease her. “I really hate you. Just so you know.”

“No,” he muttered, folding his fingers around the key. “You don’t.”

“I should,” she whispered, and opened the door so he would leave.

After she threw the dead bolt—why, she didn’t know—they all trooped back into the living room and spent the rest of the night avoiding each other’s eyes.


	12. It's a Jungle Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keeping me safe means including me, not leaving me at home to worry while the werewolves and Stiles do the work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted for their generosity in prereading.
> 
> Teen Wolf isn't mine. If it were, Keahu would be in the opening credits.

“You’re going where?” Lydia said, trying to make sense of what Scott was telling her. Not an easy task, considering she’d almost fallen asleep before his face appeared at her window.

“To track the kanima,” he said again, betraying no sign of impatience even though she could hear Stiles’ Jeep idling in the driveway. “Allison’s helping her aunt and dad go after it. She didn’t know I could hear them talking about it when I was over earlier. I told Derek, and he asked me to tell you.”

“Why did Derek send you to tell me? You could have just texted,” she said, but before he could reply realized, “He’s already gone after it.”

“So has the Argent... group or whatever,” he said, grim-faced. “Either way, whoever the kanima is, they're dead, unless I get to him first. Stiles wanted to tell you in person.”

Because Stiles knew she’d never allow them to go without her. “I told Derek not to kill him.” Sighing with exasperation, Lydia stood up and grabbed her heels. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

Lydia didn’t bother giving more than an incredulous look in response before putting on her sweater.

“Damn it, telling you was supposed to _keep_ you from coming along,” Scott complained, and followed her down the stairs.

“Derek’s learning how to deal with me, but he hasn’t figured it all out yet,” she replied.

“Going out, pumpkin?” her mother asked from the kitchen island, where she was flipping through a _Better Homes and Gardens._

Lydia directed a smile her way, though Mrs. Martin didn’t look up. “Yes. I’ll be home late, so don’t worry.”

“Answer any texts I send, and I won’t.”

“All right.” Hooking her purse strap over her shoulder, Lydia nodded to Scott. “Let’s go.”

“She didn’t even ask where I came from,” he whispered on their way out.

Like that was a surprise.

Stiles, speaking of surprises, didn’t seem at all shocked to see her approach. “I told you,” he said to Scott as the other boy crawled into the backseat.

“Nice to know _someone_ pays attention,” she said with a sniff, settling into the passenger side and reaching for her seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

“The last text Derek sent said the warehouse district, “Stiles replied. “Good move on getting him a cell phone, by the way.”

So he _had_ decided to activate it. The realization put a smile on her face. “Let’s go.”

Derek texted Scott again before they reached their destination, so they had to change their route. Stiles parked in an alley, and then the three of them tiptoed to where even Lydia could see Derek hiding behind a corner. She could hear people talking close by but couldn’t make out what they said.

As they approached, he growled without looking at them, “I thought I told you not to bring Lydia.”

She glared at his back. “Don’t be ridiculous. What were they going to do, tie me to the bed?” Stiles made a tiny, strangled noise. “Where’s the kanima?” She pressed her front to his back and looked around his arm, trying to disregard her body’s immediate response to his closeness. For God’s sake, she wasn’t Pavlov’s dog and Derek was hardly a ringing bell.

“I don’t know. The damned Argents stormed in like bulls in a china shop and then I lost it.”

“You can’t track it by smell?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t think it has one,” Scott said. Derek glanced over his shoulder with a quick nod of confirmation. “What are you looking at?”

“I thought it was somewhere around here.” Derek returned his gaze to the front of the building.

“I hope it doesn’t start to rain,” Lydia began, looking up at the cloudy night sky, but a flicker of motion on the roof stole her voice.

Stiles, following her eyes, swallowed. She grabbed for his hand. Clenching her fingers, he stumbled back a step and said, “Uh, guys?” Scott and Derek moved to stand on either side of them. “See that?”

She could tell by the way they both stopped breathing that they did. A serpentine tail, slithering through a crack high in the wall.

“It’s inside,” Scott said.

Lydia wanted to make a withering comment about stating the obvious, but Stiles said, “What’s he gonna do in there?”

“Kill someone,” Derek replied, with a slight sneer.

“Ah. So that explains the claws, and the fangs, and all that. Makes perfect sense,” Stiles said. Scott gave him an incredulous look. “Scott, c’mon, I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone. Sarcasm is my only defense.”

Scott had stopped listening about halfway through, staring at the line of men at the door of the building. “I know who he’s here for.”

“Why?” Derek moved forward, peering at the same spot. The bright lights against the dark night probably made it a little more difficult to see details for wolf eyes. “Did you smell something?

“Armani,” Scott said. Derek and Stiles seemed confused, but Lydia saw the first person in line and sucked in air between her teeth.

“Danny!” she exclaimed, moving forward without thought, but Stiles and Derek each grabbed an elbow and dragged her back into the alley. “ _What_?”

“We don’t need to attract attention by going in the front,” Derek replied. “And no matter what Scott thinks about Danny’s cologne, we can’t be sure that’s who the kanima’s going for.”

“Okay, before we go in, you have to hear this.” Keeping an ear out for screams, Lydia said, “While we were supposedly working on homework tonight _, I_ was working on translating the rest of the information on the kanima, and I’m about ninety-seven percent sure it’s Jackson. It said in there that the kanima is supposed to be a werewolf, but it’s stalled midway through its transformation until it resolves issues from its past.”

“Oh good,” Stiles said, searching the walls for something, though what, she couldn’t guess. “We’ll sign him up for a session with Ms. Morrell and call it a win. Next full moon, Peter’s got a real pack!”

“Shut up,” she ordered. “He’s a weapon of vengeance, just like we thought, but one that doesn’t have to be only utilized to kill the deserving. Obviously whoever’s using him is a complete psycho.”

Stiles scoffed. “I could’ve told you that. Is there a window we can climb in, or...” Derek handed him the doorknob to the service entrance and headed into the club. “Right.” Tossing the doorknob over his shoulder, Stiles followed. Lydia did the same, and Scott brought up the rear.

She recognized the interior from the few times Jackson and she had accompanied Danny to the club: Jungle. Both Derek and Scott winced, raising one hand to shield their eyes and hunching their shoulders. The strobes and pounding bass beat served to overwhelm even her regular human perceptions, so Lydia was surprised they were able to function at all. She decided to blame the sensory assault when Scott yelled over the music, “Dude! Everybody here’s a dude! I think we’re in a gay club!”

“Nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh Scott?” Stiles shouted back before being swallowed by a wave of drag queens.

Moving to stand against Derek’s side, she said in a very quiet voice, “See anything?”

As she’d hoped, dropping below the volume of the music seemed to help him hear her more easily. Shaking his head in obvious frustration, he said, “I can’t see or hear anything. It’s all too much.”

Seeing him at a loss made the heart-melt come back with a vengeance. “Come here.” She reached up to caress his face, the back of his neck, his shoulders. “Concentrate on me instead.” His hands dropped to her waist, and she stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his. She meant it only to soothe, but he turned it into something else, pressing into the kiss so hard that she made a startled noise against his mouth before she responded. By the time he drew back, she had forgotten where they were or what they were doing. After an open-mouthed second, she managed to gasp out, “Better?”

His gaze bored into hers. Apparently she’d managed to help him shut out the rest of the club because as far as she could tell, he wasn’t seeing anything but her. “Much.”

“See if maybe standing behind one of the speakers helps,” she suggested. “Come on, I’ll—” Spotting Danny by the bar, she cut herself off. “Actually, I’ll join you in a moment.”

He made a grab for her, but a quick-moving man without a shirt interposed himself between them and said, “Hey, cutie. I’ve never seen you here before,” to Derek.

Smiling to herself, Lydia walked up to the bar and perched on the stool next to Danny’s. He didn’t seem to notice her there until she leaned over to say in his ear, “It’s his loss.”

He tore his gaze away from the floor, where the guy he’d brought to the Winter Formal danced with someone else. “It doesn’t feel like it right now. Hey, what’re you doing here? It’s not exactly your kind of party.”

“A girl can dream,” she replied with an arch glance. “Buy me a drink?”

“Coke,” he said to the bartender, who poured a serving of rum into it and handed the glass to Lydia with a smile that suggested he didn’t entirely fit in with his clientele.

Sipping delicately, Lydia said, “This place is boring. When you brought me here before, it was better.”

“It’s a weeknight.” He shrugged, but his eyes kept straying to his ex. “And you were with Jackson.”

“Hey. Stop pining. Turn around. Look in the other direction,” she ordered, spinning to follow her own instructions. He leaned on the bar. “I think you should leave.”

“I just got here!” Danny protested. “I haven’t even finished my drink.”

If he ended up dead she would never be able to forgive herself. Suppressing the urge to scream at him, she grabbed his wrist and stared him down. “Danny, you know how Beacon Hills can be weird sometimes? Like, the kind of weird that gets people killed?” He nodded, slowly, some of the color draining from his face. “It’s really weird tonight. It’s really weird _here_ tonight. And I want you safe. Please. Go home.”

He gave one more reluctant glance to his ex, but then nodded. “Okay. See you round.” With an easy grin, he added, “Freak show,” and wandered away.

Thank God. Lydia cast her gaze around the building, trying to find Derek. Two glowing blue dots in a corner lit the way. “Tear yourself away from your new best friend?” At her look of confusion, he clarified. “The bartender.”

Oh-ho. Someone was cranky. “Don’t be an idiot. How’s it going?” She joined him in the short hallway that led to the fire exit and restrooms.

“It’s not. This place is awful.” His brows had furrowed into a single straight line. “Cologne and sweat and sex and lights and noise and all the other stuff. I’ve got a headache already.”

“You sound like a senior citizen,” she teased, but moved closer, pressing her palms to his ears. “Come here.” She tugged at his head until he lowered his nose to her hair, and snuggled into his front.

The nervous tension in his muscles eased. He took a deep breath, shoving his face against her neck in a move that reminded her of Prada in a demanding mood. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her up to his level.

Smacking his shoulder, she protested. “Hey!”

“You make it so much better,” he said.

Fear, unreasoning and blind, flashed through her at the words. Instead of pushing him away, which was her first impulse, she twisted in his embrace so that she faced outward. He let her heels lower to the floor. “Which is why you were stupid to try to cut me out tonight,” she rebuked, keeping her paltry human sight trained on the ceiling, though she leaned back against him. “Keeping me safe means including me, not leaving me at home to worry while the werewolves and Stiles do the work.”

“It was more that I didn’t want you to try to protect Jackson.” He caressed his way up, beneath her sweater, to the undersides of her breasts.

As if she didn’t already know that. “Don’t pretend that was your only reason.”

In true male-approved fashion, he decided to change the subject when confronted with a truth he wasn’t willing to discuss. “I missed you today.”

Even though she knew exactly what he was doing, the admission still sent a happy thrill curling through the pit of her stomach. It didn’t hurt that she could feel him getting hard against her rear. “That’s sweet of you.”

He laughed, the brief tremor reverberating into her back. “Sweet.”

Lydia barely had time to note the edge in his voice before he shoved his hand between them, under the hem of her skirt. Gasping, she instinctively jerked away, but his free arm stayed firm around her torso, pinning her to his own. “Derek!”

“Better hold still, or they’ll figure out what I’m up to,” he advised, no repentance evidencing in his tone, or in the fact that he had slipped his fingers into her underwear.

“We’re in a _gay club_!” she spat out, trembling with indignation and lust. Mostly lust. “It’s _rude_!”

Another laugh, this one sounding more genuine, shook against her. “Why? Because no one here but me is interested in fucking you? Well, me and Stiles, and maybe Scott, but that’s assuming he manages to stop thinking about Allison long enough.”

“It’s rude because—”One finger traced down her ass, robbing her of the ability to speak, and paused. She squirmed with mingled nerves and excitement. Was he really about to—but no, he kept going. She was wet enough that he slipped easily inside. “Damn it.” Her legs parted more, giving him access, and he added another finger. “ _God_.” Yeah, she had definitely missed him too.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, suddenly serious. His hand stilled, though he didn’t move away.

It half-killed her to admit it, but, “No.”

“Good.” His arm tightened across her stomach, and he stepped back, farther into the shadows in the hallway. A couple of men crowded past them to the bathroom.

“You’re supposed—” An involuntary moan interrupted her words. Sucking air into lungs that were experiencing some serious technical difficulties, she finished, “To be looking for the kanima.”

“I can multitask.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Lydia saw that he had his gaze trained outward, expression completely disinterested, which would have been a little insulting except that his touch was doing some pretty magical things. She angled her hips to help him out, and then had to bite her lip to hold in a whimper. Her legs seemed to be dissolving, liquefied by the combination of the plunge of his fingers inside her and the fear that they would be caught. Still, it wasn’t quite enough. “I’m never going to be able to come this way.” And she _needed_ to come now.

He eased his hand away. She shivered at the deprivation, but he only said, “This way,” and pushed the door to the tiny girl’s bathroom open. Two boys turned away from the mirror, giving him a wide-eyed once-over in unison. Derek smiled. “Mind if my friend uses this?”

“Of course not,” they replied, edging past him.

As soon as they turned the corner onto the dance floor, Lydia pulled him into the room with her. The lock didn’t quite slide home, but she was too far gone to care. Yanking her underwear down to her ankles, she kicked one foot free of them and leaned her hands on the counter, watching his reflection in the mirror.

“No.” His hands closed on her hips, trying to rotate her around. “Don’t turn your back.”

“If you think my girlie parts are coming into any sort of contact with that counter—” She stopped talking when he shrugged his jacket off and lay it on the speckled surface. “Fine.” Turning to face him, she hopped up onto the leather.

Derek unzipped his jeans so hastily she heard a few teeth give way. Within seconds he buried himself as deep inside her as he could go. Instead of starting to thrust right away, though, he smoothed his palms over her thighs, kissing the top of her head.

Lydia waited for what seemed an unbearably long time, though she knew it probably only lasted a couple of seconds, before demanding, “What are you waiting for?” Her stomach jittered nervously at the care in his touch. She didn’t want to examine her emotions closely enough to figure out why.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said.

There was some sort of question about it? “Having sex with you,” she replied. _Duh._

Derek lifted her chin and met her gaze, eyes glowing blue. “You keep telling yourself that.”

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Before she could force him to explain, he started to move, and she leaned on her hands so she could watch. The sight of his cock, glistening with the evidence of her own arousal as it slid in and out of her, made her face heat and her body leap towards release. “God, you’re so...” she groaned, words failing her. She dug her heels into his legs to pull him close.

He grabbed her hair and used it to pull her head back, exposing her throat as he covered it with ravenous kisses sure to leave marks behind. Lifting her hand, unresisting, to his mouth, he sucked on two of her fingers before freeing them to say, “Touch yourself for me?”

Lydia obeyed, rubbing her clit faster when she heard the doorknob turn, though the door stayed shut.

Derek dropped his gaze to stare at the motion of her hand, and a flush crept up his neck. His breathing stuttered. “I-I can’t—”

Seeing the effect she had on him gave her the extra push she needed to climax. Biting her lip to force her cries into silence, she gasped and shuddered around him. Derek sank his teeth into her shoulder as he pulsed into her. Lydia gave into the urge to cling to him for a second, the beat of the music echoing the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. After a moment, though, he withdrew, giving a regretful sigh. Restraining the desire to pout, she hopped down from the counter and started cleaning up, ignoring the wobbling of her knees. She threw the tissue in the trash and slid her underwear back up her legs, then adjusted her hem. Derek looked at his jacket with an odd half-smile. Lydia silently offered more tissue.

Abruptly, the jacket was gone, the door stood gaping open, and she was alone.

“What the—”she started, then realized what must have happened and rushed out.

An iron grip closed around her upper arm, jerking her back. She flailed, almost tumbling to the ground before she slammed against a hard chest that felt familiar. Looking up, she saw Peter, smiling, though his teeth looked feral.

“Now _that_ was positively... inspirational,” he breathed.

Humiliation washed over her, with fury immediately following. Derek didn’t deserve to have his own uncle perving on him like this. “You were _watching_ us? That’s disgusting. He’s your _nephew._ ”

“You’re in a public place; it’s not as if I had to strain myself to see.”

Gritting her teeth, she spat out, “That door was closed.”

He smirked. “Not very well, sweetheart.” Shouts erupted from the dance floor. Keeping his hand wrapped around her arm, he pivoted her about to see the floor. Clubbers milled around, stampeding towards the exits. She had to swallow her shock at the sight of six men, lying immobile on the ground, but then a scream out of her when she recognized one of them: Danny. He must have decided to stay after all. A blur of motion near the fallen dancers moved too quickly for her to focus, which meant it was probably Derek, Scott, and the kanima. Peter released her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him peering through the artificial fog and lasers, eyes red, and a lupine smile gracing his face. The air whipped her hair in his wake before she realized he had gone.

Within seconds, the tangle on the floor broke apart into its distinct elements: Scott and Derek, fully wolfed out. The kanima, throat slashed. Peter, black and hulking in his wolf form. Lydia blinked, and the kanima vanished. Another blink, and the werewolves were gone too.

“Come on come on come _on,_ ” Stiles yelled, seizing her hand in his as he raced towards the emergency exit behind her. She stumbled after him and then found her stride. They rushed into the alley. “Blood,” he said, pointing at the tar-like substance dripped on the pavement.

Following the trail, they found Scott, on his knees, hands covered in the black goo. Lydia nearly screamed again before she realized he wasn’t the one who’d been hurt.

“What do we do with him now?” he asked, turning a frantic face up to theirs.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the deep gashes in Jackson’s throat, rapidly knitting themselves back together, she managed to say, “Get him out of here.”

“Why not just kill him?” Derek said, appearing by her side.

“We’re not killing him!” Scott and Lydia chorused.

Stiles shrugged. “I like Derek’s plan. If I had claws I’d do it myself.”

“You can be a vengeful, bloodthirsty little imp,” Lydia said, narrowing her eyes. “Let’s get him in the back of your Jeep.”

“Yeah, because what I need is for him to get bodily fluids all over _another_ thing I love,” he muttered, almost too low for her to hear. Lydia elected to ignore it, along with Derek’s breath of laughter. Together, the werewolves hoisted Jackson into the Jeep and covered him with a blanket Stiles had under the seat.

It wasn’t until Lydia swung the door closed on him that Derek’s nostrils flared. He bent closer and then started back, eyes wide. “Peter was _here_?” He spun around, searching the shadows. “Where did he go?”

Where _had_ he gone? “I don’t know,” Lydia answered, looking too even though she knew it was useless. “I assumed he followed you, but it doesn’t seem like it, does it? Maybe he’s looking for whoever’s controlling Jackson.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Scott said, “I need to ask Danny why he was attacked before the cops get here.”

“Or worse, my dad. Can you imagine what he’ll think if he finds Lydia and me here?” Stiles asked. “Third crime scene in a row.”

“I think I know why,” Lydia said. “Derek, Jackson came by while we were studying tonight. He kept accusing me of having tampered with some video he made the night of the full moon. If he wanted something like that restored, he would have asked Danny. And if he transformed into the kanima on that tape, maybe whoever’s controlling him would be afraid Danny saw that.”

“So this is about covering tracks,” Derek said.

“I think so.” The sirens grew closer. “Stiles, you need to go.”

“How will you get home?” he asked, already clambering into the driver’s seat. Scott hopped in on the other side.

She looked down the street and smiled. “I only gave Jackson’s house key back. Not his car key. And, would you look at that. A Porsche, parked right there. Whoever’s controlling him isn’t very cautious, is he?”

“Take him to my place,” Derek said to Stiles. With a nod, Stiles turned the key in the ignition and pulled out just before cruisers began screeching into the parking lot.

“Here,” Lydia said, giving Derek the keys. “Go wait for me in the car. I need to check on Danny.”

Once she made certain her friend was okay, and answered the few questions the deputies had for her, she headed for Danny’s Yaris with the keys she’d swiped from his pocket in hand. He’d been too paralyzed to notice. Keeping an eye out for any police officers, she drove down the road and parked a few spaces behind Jackson’s Porsche.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked a few seconds later.

She kept looking through the hatchback. “Danny’s tablet. If he was doing video restoration it’d be on that.” With a sound of disgust, she straightened. “It’s not here. I found his phone, though. Get back in the Porsche. You’re too exposed at the moment.”

He pulled away from the curb with less panache than she would have expected, but then again he probably was just trying to avoid attention. “Who’re you texting?” he asked, coming to a stop at a red light.

“Jackson’s mom and dad, so they won’t worry.” She showed him the message. _Back later._

He raised his eyebrows. “No ‘love you,’ or anything?”

She laughed and turned the phone back so she could hit send. “Why on earth would anyone text that to their parents?”

A long silence was her only answer, until he broke it with, “I guess I don’t know.”

Lydia wasn’t very familiar with shame, but it pricked her now. Reaching for his arm, she leaned her head against it, disregarding the jolt every time he switched gears. After a few minutes, he dropped a kiss into her hair, and the unaccustomed tightness in her chest eased in response.


	13. Don't Give Me the Power to Hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various interrogations take their course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not dead yet! Though this semester did its best. Thanks as ever to my beauteous prereaders einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted for their polishing.
> 
> I don't own Teen Wolf.

“How is he still unconscious?” Lydia knelt next to Jackson on the depot floor and turned his head back and forth, examining the healed skin on his neck. She noted he was at least wearing some shorts, which was an improvement over the last time she’d seen him. “Is there some sort of internal injury?”

“I, uh, kept hitting his head,” Scott said, face sheepish. “It hurt, too. I’m not used to that happening anymore.”

Lydia gave him a sardonic look but stood, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt. “He needs to be tied up.”

“I’ve got some stuff,” Derek said, and disappeared from view while Lydia, Stiles, and Scott aimed inquisitive glances at each other.

A few seconds later, he dumped an armful of chains, spikes, and other assorted metal at their feet.

“What? No Iron Maiden?” Stiles asked.

“Is that... a _medical_ halo?” Lydia said, pulling the circle from the pile to examine it.

“We’re not using that.” Scott took it from her and tossed it into a dark corner. “Chains are enough.” Working in silence, he and Derek wrapped Jackson against a pylon, finishing the job just as he stirred and moaned.

Lydia bent over so their faces were level. “Jackson?”

“Mm.” His head lolled, but then he straightened to offer a sleepy smile. Her heart clutched in response. That was his first-thing-the-morning-after-sex expression. “Lydia?”

“Hey.” She managed a wobbly smile in return.

“What’re you—” The chains shifted against him, and his eyes widened. “What the fuck?” He lunged against the restraints. “Get me out! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Lydia took a step back despite herself, but Derek’s body blocked her way. His solid presence grounded her again. “We had to do it.”

Jackson stilled, but glared at her, unblinking, face set with fury. “What do you mean, you had to do it? Is this some sort of joke?”

Stiles burst out with, “Not unless you think killing people is funny, asshole.”

“Yeah, I think it’s hilarious.” Jackson struggled against his chains again. “At least, I’m gonna be laughing when I choke you, you little prick. Get me out of here!”

“Jackson, he’s not joking,” Lydia said, raising her voice above the metallic clinking. “You’re killing people.”

“To death,” Stiles added, only to fall silent again when she glared at him.

Some of the color drained from Jackson’s cheeks, but his voice stayed steady. “Bullshit. I’m not killing anyone.”

“You are,” she insisted. “We just caught you at the club when you tried to kill Danny.”

The habitual sneer left his face. He looked like a scared little boy. “Why would I try to kill my best friend?”

“I don’t think _you_ would,” she said, daring to move closer again. “I think whoever’s controlling you wants him dead.”

But that was a mistake. Jackson’s expression shuttered. “Nobody’s _controlling_ me. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you so desperate to get my attention that you roped these losers into your schemes?”

Heat sneaked up Lydia’s neck. She didn’t dare look at the others. Before she could answer, Derek said, “Do you really think she wastes a single second thinking about you when you aren’t being a pain in the ass?”

It might have been the longest sentence he’d ever spoken in her presence. She turned to examine him, but he ignored her for their captive, who didn’t seem at all cowed. “I think she’s smart enough to hide it from you, but I _know_ her,” Jackson said.

Stiles scoffed. “You don’t even know the person in your own mirror.”

For some reason, that triggered a return to rage. Jackson lunged into the chains again. “Fuck you, Stilinski.”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Scott said, moving forward. “Jackson, the bite didn’t work. You’re not turning into a werewolf.”

“No shit,” Jackson replied, flushing.

“But you _are_ turning into something else.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the screen a few times, then turned his wrist to show it to Jackson. “A kanima.”

Jackson glanced at the screen and laughed. “Funny, Scott. Yeah, I’m sure a _werewolf bite_ could turn me into a gigantic lizard that kills people.”

“Wasting your time, all of you,” said a lazy, amused voice from a dark corner. They all jumped. Lydia shrank back against Derek, but took no comfort from the strong arm he wrapped around her. None of the others had given her any indication that they could take on Peter and win. “He can’t remember. When he’s the kanima, his consciousness is his master’s.” Walking out into the light, he examined Jackson with a half-smile. “Perfect tool, aren’t you?”

For once, Jackson seemed appropriately frightened, ducking his head and avoiding Peter’s gaze. Lydia watched his toes curl against the concrete and closed her eyes, turning her face into Derek’s chest. His heartbeat thrummed against her cheek, fast but not frantic. His hand rested steady on the small of her back. Some of his imperturbability, unjustified though it might be, leaked into her, and she found the courage to speak. “Please don’t kill him.”

“Don’t worry, Lydia; I never destroy things that can be of use to me.”

Lydia dared to peep at the scene again and saw Peter standing over Jackson, who was currently developing... spots?

“Oh, shit,” Scott said, backing off. The rest of them followed suit, except Peter, who watched with avid fascination as Jackson’s eyes turned reptilian.

“Here. Let me help with that.” His own eyes reddening, Peter ripped through the chains, freeing the captive.

“What are you doing?” Derek yelled, starting forward before Lydia’s grip on his shirt seemed to bring him back to heel.

Peter laughed while Jackson’s head twisted at a bizarre angle. “Why settle for one pet when I could have two?”

“Another kanima?” Stiles whispered, but Peter ignored him.

“Of course, I’m afraid I can’t let your friend realize you were captured.” Grabbing Jackson’s rapidly mottling neck, he jabbed two claws into its nape. “So let’s just take care of that little issue, shall we?” Jackson hissed and writhed, but Peter held firm, eyes glazing over until he seemed to accomplish whatever he wanted to do. “There you are. Let’s get you back to your car so you can go home. Derek, keys.” Derek tossed them over. Still keeping Jackson in a firm grip, Peter hustled out of the depot.

“What the hell?” Lydia said, glaring at Derek.

He gave her a rueful smile. “It wasn’t worth fighting over. We can’t keep his car anyway.”

“Another kanima?” Scott asked, looking at Stiles, who nodded.

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

“We just don’t know enough,” Lydia said, stepping away from Derek. He didn’t let his hand fall away, which made her frown, but she opted not to make an issue of it. “It’s so frustrating. We can’t narrow down a suspect list until someone else is attacked.”

“Which means someone else is probably going to die,” Scott said, hopelessness settling onto his face.

Sympathy sharpened Lydia’s tone, which was the opposite of what should have happened, but seeing him at a loss hurt. Scott and she shared a hatred for an impasse. “Because of _Peter._ Not you. Peter and whoever’s controlling Jackson.”

“If there were more of us, we could take Peter out,” Derek said.

“The least we can do is not add to the body count,” Scott replied, brows lowering.

Lydia wasn’t sure there was anything else they _could_ do, not if they wanted to be safe, but considering the task would be sure to fall to people with better weapons than she possessed, she didn’t think she had the right to urge them into it. “Can we tell your dad, Stiles? I mean, he’s the sheriff. There has to be something he can do.”

For a brief moment, he looked old, weighed down by the pressures of his life. “I can’t. He won’t believe me. But if he does… that might be worse.”

The wound in her wrist throbbed as a punctuation, reminding her of what happened to humans who got too close to forces they couldn’t control. _I want to go home,_ she almost said, before remembering that her mother’s presence promised no safety against the creatures who offered her harm. So instead she said, “We should all try to get some sleep, since there’s nothing else we can do.”

Nobody moved. Stiles raked a hand through his hair. “My dad’s working.”

“So’s my mom,” Scott said. “Isaac’s been blowing up my phone wondering what’s going on.”

Lydia aimed a glance at Derek’s bedding, now folded in a neat pile and resting on the crate where she usually sat. Looking at him, she saw him examining her face, concern clear on his own. She didn’t want to let any of them out of her sight for a second. In fact, having Isaac isolated from the group was making her jumpy. It was bad enough that Allison was out there, but her aunt and father could probably keep her safe. She could see the same anxiety in Scott’s motions while he texted. Going to separate buildings wasn’t going to help any of them get rest.

Heaving a sigh, she said to Scott, “Your place or mine?”

* * *

“Here, I brought some,” Isaac said, interrupting Scott’s frantic search through his backpack by holding out a tube of toothpaste. Derek pulled a comb out of his jacket pocket like an extra from _Grease_ and ran it through his hair.

Stiles hung upside-down from the mattress, looking under the bed skirt. “Has anyone seen my other—” Derek smacked a tennis shoe onto his shoulder. “Oh, thanks.” He took the shoe and rolled over, falling to the floor, which didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest, since he just put it on with his leg in the air.

“Lydia?” her mom called, and they all froze. “Eat some of the fruit in the basket before it all goes bad. I have to go in early.”

“Have a good day,” Lydia shouted back from her perch at the vanity. Even though the large mirror hadn’t been replaced yet, she still had all of her makeup there, so she was making do with her compact mirror.

The sounds of the garage door lowering set them back into motion. “Someone put my school things back into my bag,” Lydia ordered, applying a final coating of lip gloss. Each of the boys grabbed a book and then they all tried to jam them into her knapsack at once. She rolled her eyes at her reflection. Honestly, someone either had to tell Allison the whole truth or convert Erica to their side, because she was being overwhelmed by _male_.

Now, that was a new thought. Before Allison had come to the school, being alone in a crowd of boys had been Lydia’s natural element.

“What are you going to do today?” she asked Derek, to distract herself.

“See if I can figure out more about the victims,” he replied.

“Go eat the produce,” Lydia ordered the others. When they were downstairs, she said to Derek, “You need to be more careful.”

“The Beacon Hills police department is chronically understaffed,” he said with a shrug. “They’re not going to be able to find me; the whole staff’s been stretched too thin because of budget cuts.”

How did he know that? No, he wasn’t going to distract her. “Still, gallivanting all over town isn’t a good strategy. Stiles’ dad isn’t an idiot.”

He pulled her up by her shoulders into an embrace. “I’m not telling the whole truth. Mostly, I’m going to wait for you to get out of class.”

She didn’t often feel the difference in their ages, but every once in a while he would say something that drove it home. “What did you do before you met me?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist, her tone carefully playful.

“A lot of things, but it was different.”

Lydia craned her neck back, peering at his face. “In a bad way?”

He tilted his head at an interrogative angle. “What’s wrong?”

What _was_ wrong? The unsettled feeling in her chest fluttered larger.

_I know what you’re doing._

How did he know, when she didn’t know herself?

“Lydia!” Stiles yelled. “Are you taking your car or riding with us?”

“My own,” she called back. No way was she jamming herself into the Jeep with those juveniles. “See you there.”

The door slammed.

“Tell me,” Derek said, dropping his arms and stepping back.

The fear she saw lurking in his eyes made her want to slap him, even though he hid it almost instantly. _Don’t do that. Don’t give me the power to hurt you._ “There’s nothing to tell.”

Derek didn’t look away.

Torn between the urge to stalk out of the room and the need to hold him again, she gave into the former, but only made it to the hall outside her bedroom before she turned around and said, “Of course, if you _want_ me to leave without even kissing me goodbye, I suppose that’s your mistake, but—”

His mouth pressed against hers, cutting her off, before she even saw him move. When he would have pulled away, she grabbed his shirt and licked his lower lip. His hands tightened on her ass.

“You were about to get stained by my lip gloss,” she explained. “Rise and Shine isn’t really your shade.”

He kissed her again and then released her. “It’d be worth it.”

Lydia spent the rest of the morning fighting the urge to text him.

At lunch, she sat by herself. Or at least, she thought she did, until she heard, “Do you want something?” and looked up to see Boyd what’s-his-name sitting opposite.

“Why would I want something?” she asked, turning her apple over in her hands.

“I can’t think of another reason you’d sit with me,” he replied. He hunched over his lunch tray as if she were a threat to his meal.

She hadn’t even noticed him at the table. That probably wasn’t good. Searching for justification for her presence, she settled on, “Maybe I’m trying to expand my social circle.”

“Three-quarters of the school isn’t enough for you?” He took a slow bite of salad and chewed, gaze never wavering.

“My goal is total domination.” She couldn’t help the quirk at the corner of her mouth when she said it, though, and he responded with a reluctant half-smile. “What’s yours?”

He seemed to think about it, but before he answered Allison slid into the seat beside her. “Hey.” At her waist, Lydia caught a glimpse of a knife in a sheath, which probably was against dress code, but then again if Lydia knew how to use a knife she might start carrying one too.

“Hey yourself. Do you know Boyd?”

“I think we have a couple classes together. Hi. I’m Allison.”

“And you’re exhausted,” Lydia noted, marking the circles below her friend’s eyes. “What have you been up to?”

Allison shrugged. “Studying.”

Studying how to be a monster hunter. If they were all like Peter, Lydia might have cheered her on, but as things stood, Allison might end up killing _her_ soon. “You didn’t get any food?”

“I…” Allison looked around, bereft. “I forgot?”

“Here you go,” Scott said, setting a tray in front of her and sitting on her other side. “Hi, Boyd.”

Boyd appeared more confused by the second but said, “Hi.”

“Why’re we all sitting over here?” Stiles took his place next to Boyd. “Hey Boyd. How’s the ice-skating rink job going? Are they hiring?”

“Not that I know of,” Boyd said, regarding him as if he were a particularly baffling species of insect.

“Cool.” Stiles took a huge bite of burger and added something unintelligible.

Isaac sat on Boyd’s other side. “Did anybody get the blueberry muffin? They were out by the time I hit the line.”

“Have mine,” Allison said, tossing it to him.

Lydia’s hair stood on end. Turning to seek out the source of her discomfort, she saw Peter through the window, standing at the bottom of the hill next to the parking lot. None of the others seemed to catch sight of him, but Boyd, speaking under their chatter, said, “That guy’s creepy.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lydia asked, “Do you know him?”

“Not really. But I’ve noticed him around.”

Peter only allowed himself to be noticed when it served his purpose. “What’s he been doing?”

Boyd shrugged again. “Staring at me.”

A chill shot down to her fingertips. “He’s a really bad guy.”

“So’s Jackson Whittemore,” he pointed out, and she had no answer to that.

When the final bell rang, she fumbled around in her locker and then combed her hair in the bathroom for a stupid length of time, because she was afraid Derek would be waiting for her in the parking lot.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she told her reflection.

Her reflection smiled at her. _I know, but I look cute while I am, don’t I?_

With a start, Lydia touched her own face. No, she _was_ smiling. It wasn’t just the girl in the mirror. Right?

Why did the expression look so unfamiliar?

Time to face whatever the outdoors held. Even if what it held was a werewolf who didn’t want to let her use her usual coping tactics. She walked outside and then released a pent-up breath, feeling idiotic when disappointment welled up at the sight of the deserted parking lot. Fumbling for her key fob, she crossed to her car, and then something smacked her arm.

* * *

“Lydia.”

The sing-song intonation was the first thing to welcome her back to consciousness.

“Lydia…”

Blinking open eyes that didn’t want to move, Lydia looked around the room and groaned. Dark, dank, and still smelling like blood. Perfect. And she was chained to the floor.

“Recognize it, do you?” Kate Argent bent over her and grinned. “I wondered if it was you or the Stilinski kid.”

“Are you going to send in your evil henchmen to beat _me_ with a crowbar?” Lydia asked, testing her handcuffs as subtly as possible. They were so tight on her wrists that she could feel the blood struggling to push through the veins. The shackles on her ankles, bolted to the floor, were no looser.

“No need. You’re human.” Kate ambled through the room, keeping one eye on her captive while she toyed with Lydia’s phone. “What’s the code?”

“ _Nous chassons ceux qui nos chassent,_ ” Lydia replied.

Kate froze. “What?”

“It’s on the medallion Allison wears,” Lydia said. “ _Notre code suivant: nous chasson ceux qui nos chassent._ ” She rattled the handcuffs as punctuation to the words. “Though I have to say, I can’t recall hunting you. Maybe the fifty thousand volts you just gave my brain erased the memory.”

Recovering her smile, Kate crouched in front of Lydia. “I doubt that. You’re smart. Even Allison says so, and she’s pretty intelligent herself. Gets her brains from Aunt Kate.” Holding out the phone, she waved it in Lydia’s face. “The code to unlock the screen.”

If she’d known having a simple pattern code would be the key to defeating various villains, Lydia would have come up with a more complex solution. “Why do you want it?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Kate stood with a disappointed sigh. “Are you trying to kill time? Hoping for a rescue?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes, wishing that sheer hatred could be sufficient to strike someone else dead. “I’m actually hoping they have enough good sense to stay the hell away from here.”

“Derek never has displayed much good sense when it comes to romance, though,” Kate said, face thoughtful.

Lydia could see the older woman checking out of the corner of her eye for a reaction, so she was sure to repress her own. “That doesn’t concern me.”

“Oh, I think it does.” Kate chuckled and leaned one hip on the table, next to Lydia’s shoes. “He and I have a history together, you know.”

“I know your psychotic family burned his to death. That’s pretty much the only history lesson I need.” Lydia had read once that breaking your thumb could enable you to slide your hand free of cuffs if things became too desperate. She hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but if she had to listen to Kate monologue for long then she’d start considering it.

“Not my family. It was a bit of a rogue operation.” Kate toyed with the phone some more. “My sister-in-law gave it her endorsement, but my brother… well, he’s a little straight-laced.” That manic glint lit her eyes, and Lydia shivered in spite of herself. “He’d hate to know I seduced a werewolf just to get his family’s schedule.”

Well, that explained a lot. “Right. Just to get his schedule.” Rage burned through Lydia’s body, turning her more cautious impulses to ash. “I guess his looks had nothing to do with it when you saw the opportunity to kill a bunch of innocent children for fun.”

“Meh.” Shrugging, Kate tossed the phone to the table. “He’s pretty cute. Does he still do that thing, when you go down on him, where he—”

“Shut up.”

Kate gave a delighted laugh. “He does! Oh my God. Some things never change. And one of those things…” She removed a whip from its brace on the wall. “Is that the people who Derek loves always pay for his mistakes.”

“Derek doesn’t love me,” Lydia objected, low-voiced. “You’ll have to try harder to hurt him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That boy is a marshmallow. You should have seen how quickly I got him to tell me he loved me.”

An ache bloomed in the general vicinity of Lydia’s heart, but she refused to contemplate its source. “You don’t know anything about him. And you don’t know anything about me, if you think I was joking about telling my father if you hurt me.”

“Oh, I know enough. Pretty sure that you don’t want me telling Daddy all about your hot sexual escapades with the guy who’s nearly a decade older than you.” Kate bent to whisper into Lydia’s ear. “California has some draconian consent laws, you know. And fathers don’t like to think about their daughters mouth fucking murder suspects even if they _aren’t_ breaking the law in other ways.”

Lydia turned her face away from the heat of Kate’s breath, but said nothing. Something pale in the corner caught her eye. At first, she couldn’t identify the shape, but then she realized it was a head. One unconnected to a body.

“Omega wolf.” Kate straightened and walked over to kick the head like a soccer ball. “I thought he could lead me to Peter, but turns out he didn’t know anything. Waste of time.”

Watching the hapless werewolf’s face rotate across the concrete, Lydia swallowed nausea, then cringed as Kate turned back to her.

“So.” Kate hefted the whip, then stopped. “No, you know, I have a better idea.” Returning to the wall, she put the whip in its place and then removed a rubber bat instead. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, Lydia, and I’ve noticed one thing in particular.” Smacking the bat into the palm of the hand opposite, she approached once more. “You _love_ high heels.”

“What are you hoping to accomplish?” Lydia demanded, trying to scoot away and failing, of course. “I can’t tell you where Peter is!”

“I don’t want information.” Kate raised her arm. “I want to send a message.”

* * *

“Wake up.”

For once, young Peter’s voice had lost its insouciance. An urgent hand shook her shoulder. Lydia shoved it away and kept crying.

“You have to wake up, Lydia. Get up and go back.”

“No,” she whimpered, curling up into a ball. Her feet hurt so badly that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to walk again. “I don’t want to go back. Kate’s there.”

“Open your damned eyes and look around you.”

The implacable tone shook her awake.

She was standing in the middle of the forest, staring at a tiny mobile home. In front of her stood a person in a hoodie, face obscured by its shadow. Above him hung the kanima.

Lydia opened her mouth to shout a warning, but then the person in the hoodie looked up at the kanima. Instead of running, he pointed toward the trailer in a distinctly imperative fashion.

And the kanima obeyed.

The mobile home erupted in screams. Clapping her hand over her mouth to smother her own cries, Lydia started backing away, only to stumble over something soft and wet. She turned, heart thudding with dread. A dead man’s face stared back at her from the ground.

Wailing in terror, Lydia started running, heedless of the pain it caused her bare feet—although it didn’t seem like it was hurting as much as it should. She fled without trying to figure out her course until another man’s silhouette loomed in front of her. She would have changed direction, but he called her name, voice filled with relief.

“Derek,” she sobbed, and stumbled into his embrace, even though she knew it offered no safety.


	14. Beg, Borrow, Buy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody tells the whole truth, with the possible exception of Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much gratitude to einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted for their tireless cheerleading when it comes to this story. Y'all will probably be glad to know that I wrote the final chapter this week and am halfway through the epilogue, and they, and FatedFeathers, are the ones to thank. <3
> 
> I still don't own Teen Wolf.

Lydia flinched and turned her head away from the damp cloth Derek pressed to her face.

“Hold still.” Careful not to let the water drip onto her front, he held her chin in his free hand to stop its motion.

“It hurts,” she said, squashing the whiny note that wanted to make an appearance, and opting instead for irritation.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He dabbed at the dried blood in her hairline. “You don’t want your mom to see this and start asking questions, though.”

“She’s already started asking questions.” Tears started pooling in her eyes. She cast her gaze upward to give them somewhere to go. “There just aren’t any answers I can give her.”

“Was it Kate who took you?”

The soap in the water stung, but not as badly as the lack of inflection in his voice. “Yes. Back to the room where I found you, the first time.”

Derek scooted closer, burying his nose in her hair, which soothed the hurt a little. She leaned into him, and he kissed her temple, but then pulled away as if embarrassed. “I could smell Argent, but I wasn’t sure which one because of all the other scents.” Her hair apparently cleaned to his satisfaction, he moved on to one of her calves. “I hoped—we all hoped—that you had gone with Allison, because she wasn’t answering her phone, either. But then Scott finally got ahold of her, and we figured it out.”

“How did you find me?” Moving gingerly, Lydia slipped her sweater off and threw it in the direction of his trash bag. It was ruined, anyway, cut and snagged by tree branches during her heedless flight.

“I didn’t. You found me. We had split up, looking for you, but I was nowhere near my family’s house.”

“I don’t think I was, either.”

Looking up from his task, he met her gaze directly for the first time since they had encountered each other in the woods. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the kanima’s master,” she said, whispering past the lump of reminiscent terror in her throat. “I saw him sic Jackson on a woman in a travel trailer.”

“Who was it?” Derek asked, one hand tightening its grip on her leg. “Did you recognize him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know for sure that it was a guy, though I’m pretty sure it was.”

“Okay.”

He slid his hand down to her ankle, as if to lift her foot, and she instinctively jerked her leg away. “No, don’t!”

Derek froze, but said, “You were running through the woods without shoes. The cuts on the soles of your feet are going to get infected if you don’t let me clean them.”

“I can’t,” she breathed, trembling. “I can’t.” True, her feet didn’t hurt nearly as badly as they had before she’d awoken next to the trailer, but she attributed that to the numbness of trauma. If he touched them, she just knew the agony would begin again.

“Lydia, what did she do to you?” His eyes started to glow, though his tone stayed flat as ever.

For some strange reason, shame filled her at the question. Or maybe it wasn’t that strange, with the sounds of her own screams and begging still echoing in her ears. She would have told Kate anything, anything at all, after the third blow. But Kate hadn’t wanted to know anything. She’d only wanted to hurt Derek. And still Lydia had pleaded and bargained with a woman who obviously knew nothing of mercy.

Stupid. She’d been so stupid.

If she said it quickly, she might be able to get it all out without bawling. “She beat the soles of my feet.” Like something straight out of Shakespeare. She’d always laughed when the line _I will deal in poison with thee, or bastinado,_ was recited, but she’d never be able to listen to it again without cringing.

“ _What_?” Derek lifted her leg into his lap before she could stop him, inspecting her feet.

Instead of the horror she’d expected, only confusion showed on his face. “What? What is it?”

“They look mostly all right. Some cuts and bruises, but nothing I wouldn’t expect to see from running barefoot in a forest.” Turning her foot with cautious hands, he touched her arch with one fingertip. “Does that hurt?”

“No.” Lydia crossed her legs so she could see for herself. As he’d said, her feet looked a little beat up, but not nearly as severely wounded as they had felt in the torture room. “But…” Looking up at him again, she searched for words. “I swear I was telling the truth.”

“I believe you,” he said, almost before she’d finished speaking. “I know Kate. I know what she’s capable of.”

“Then how did this happen?” She extended one foot to put into the bowl of soapy water.

“Remember the cuts on your hand?” Derek dipped the washcloth into the water and set to work on her other foot. “They healed, too. You never said how you got to the mobile home where Jackson and his master were.”

Lydia sighed. “That’s because I don’t know. I think I passed out, or fell asleep, and then when I woke up I was there.”

He gave a near-soundless laugh. “So maybe Kate didn’t actually let you go. Bet that pissed her off.”

She started to laugh, but it came out as a sob, and then, even though she clamped her mouth shut against it, tears began running hot and fast down her cheeks to drip from her jaw. Derek looked miserable, but he only gazed at her face without moving to comfort her. After a few humiliating minutes, she managed to get herself under control and say, “I want to go home.”

Derek nodded, reaching for his phone on the floor beside him. “I’ll call Stiles.”

“And I want you to come with me,” she added.

He stopped mid-dial. “What?”

More tears threatened, but Lydia swallowed them back. “Don’t make me spend the night in my room alone, waiting for an Argent or Peter to break in there.”

“I just thought…” Trailing off, he rubbed her leg with feather-light fingertips. “Did she say anything about me?”

“Yes, she said quite a bit.” He flushed, ducking his head with obvious shame. Lydia scooted closer and put one hand on his arm. “I don’t care, Derek. She’s vicious and unprincipled and every word that comes out of her mouth is untrustworthy.”

“I’d be willing to bet everything she said was true.”

“Even if it is, I still don’t care.” That same ache in her chest was back, paining her with every breath. “Derek. Come back with me.” He still didn’t respond, so she hardened her tone. “You’re not staying here when I need you.”

At last, he gave a hesitant nod. Lydia took his phone from him and finished putting in the number.

Stiles answered on the first ring. “Have you found her?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh my God. Holy shit. Thank God. What the—Lydia, where the hell have you been?”

“Can you come to Derek’s place?” Derek stood and gathered up the water bowl and washcloth. Lydia watched him walk away, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “I’ll tell you everything, but I need to get home.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

It turned out she couldn’t tell him anything. Every time she tried, she started to cry.

By the time Stiles pulled up in her driveway, Lydia had recovered most of her composure, but some of it vanished again when she walked through the front door and saw her book bag and purse lying on the foyer table. Grabbing Stiles’ elbow, she hissed, “What is that? How did they get here?”

“Hi, honey,” her mom called from the living room.

Walking into the room, Lydia saw the latest boy toy sitting uncomfortably close to her mother on the sofa, wine glasses in both their hands. “Mom, who dropped off my things?”

Her mother disregarded the question. Apparently her date was interesting enough to distract her from Lydia’s disheveled appearance. “This is Troy.” The man, who actually probably passed the half-plus-seven test, smiled and gave a half-wave. “Say hello.”

Troy the boy toy. Nice. “Hello, Troy. Mom, my stuff?”

“Oh, that sweet Argent girl brought it by. Allison.”

Unblinking with shock, Lydia made her way upstairs, Stiles still in tow. Once the bedroom door closed behind her, Derek crawled in through the window, saying, “I heard,” before either of the other two could explain.

“How much do you think she knows?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “Kate brought her by when she was torturing me. She used me as a case study on lycanthropy.”

Lydia gaped in disbelief. “And you’re only thinking to mention that _now_?”

“It didn’t seem important before. Allison looked too scared to offer a real threat back then.” At Stiles’ and Lydia’s continued silence, he added, “They are what they are. Same as us. There’s no point in getting angry about it. It’s in their nature.”

“Nature might be red in tooth and claw, but that doesn’t mean we have to let our inner animal out of its cage,” Lydia replied. It seemed the Argents in general were destined to inspire nothing but fury in her. “I can’t believe she would do this to me.”

“Kate’s a liar,” Derek said, rubbing her arm.

Stiles rushed to agree. “Yeah, we don’t know what she told Allison. She might have said that she was trying to protect you from Derek, or whatever.”

Sitting on her bed, Lydia sighed. “I’m not feeling the impulse to be _reasonable_ right now.”

“I don’t blame you.” Stiles gave her shoulder a clumsy pat, then jerked his hand back when Derek sat down next to her. “See you tomorrow?”

“I guess I’ll need a ride,” she said.

Once he left, Derek started to speak, but that same amorphous fear she’d felt at the train depot made her cut him off. “I have to get ready for bed.”

She showered and brushed her teeth as slowly as possible, finding herself for the second occasion in one day killing time in front of a mirror.

 _Who_ are _you?_ she silently asked her reflection, but it offered no answer.

The fact that Derek was still sitting on her bed, waiting, when she returned, gave her a shock of happiness, and that told her what she feared, but she shoved the realization away and said, “I hope you’re not going to insist that I have to sleep alone again.”

“No.” He stood to turn down the covers, and she noticed he had taken off his shoes and socks. “Not this time.”

“Oh.” She’d expected some sort of argument. “Good.”

A long moment after she turned off the light, he joined her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her temple. “You scared me today.”

“Think of it as payback for all those near-death experiences of yours that you made me witness,” she said, cuddling closer. “What—are you naked?”

“Not all of us can pull off the silk negligee look.”

“Well, I’d say you look better naked than I do in this nightgown, so you came out ahead in this one.”

“You look better than I do no matter what.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. “I’m the one who has night vision, so I can tell.”

“Lucky you.” Lydia kissed her way down his neck before nipping at his shoulder. “I guess I’ll just have to feel my way forward. Since I’m only human, after all.” Derek went still beneath her. Lifting her head, she prompted, “What?”

“Are you sure that’s what you are?”

More fear, curling inside her like smoke she didn’t dare follow back to its source. “No. But I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ve been kidnapped and beaten, found another dead body, probably witnessed a murder, and right now the issue of whether or not I’m human is a little too intense for me.” Slipping one hand down to grasp his erection, she said, “I have other things I _do_ want to think about, though.”

His voice roughened. “Me too.” He kissed her chin, and then rolled over again to cradle her in his embrace, lips meeting hers over and over in kisses that conveyed more emotion than they did lust.

“You _were_ scared,” she whispered, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

“Fucking terrified.” Derek caressed her hair back from her face, rubbing his nose against hers. “Kate—she took—” Cutting himself off with a frustrated noise, he tried again. “She’s responsible—” But once more, he seemed unable to finish.

Lydia decided to help him. “I know. She took everything but your sister and Peter.”

“I wouldn’t care so much if she took Peter now,” he said. She laughed. “But when I realized she had you…” He shook his head, as if what he’d felt defied description.

“I know,” she said again, pulling him even closer until he slid inside her. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He was so much taller than she that she couldn’t see anything except his chest, but she could feel the smile when he protested, “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you, here.”

“It’s working.” Just talking to him made everything better; he’d never consented to this much conversation before. She didn’t want to admit that, though. “Your cock is extremely comforting. Better than a security blanket by a long shot.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to laugh. He sat back on his knees, drawing her down the bed with him, and held her hips steady. “That’s good to know.”

Lydia braced her heels on the mattress and blinked up at the shadow where she knew his face was. “Somehow they failed to mention it during my first aid classes.” He drove deeper, and she caught her breath. “I think they should update—” But then he bent to suck on her nipple, and she lost her train of thought.

Sex with Derek was so different from sex with Jackson. With Jackson she'd been worried about giving a good performance, trying out whatever she'd read in Cosmo the month before (within reason), and making certain he didn't have anything to laugh about with his friends afterward. Derek, on the other hand, didn't require impressing, because he was already impressed by Lydia in general, and was secure enough to tell her so. His technique was rough and unpracticed, and she got the impression that anything fancy would be met by silent bafflement on his part. But his entire attention was focused on her. Even now, blinded by the dark, she could sense his gaze fixed upon her as he moved inside her body, and instead of feeling at a disadvantage, she only felt adored.

Nothing like sex to bring some entirely unwanted clarity.

Derek stopped moving, and she said, “What?”

“You’re a million miles away.” He withdrew and dropped a kiss onto her breastbone. “Too much? Do you want to stop?”

Too much, yes, but, “I don’t want to stop.” Doing this made her feel that her body was her own again. Repositioning herself on her hands and knees, she said, “This way.”

He didn’t protest the position this time, which was unexpected, but somehow even facing away from him didn’t help. He was everywhere, pressed against her and inside her, face beside hers, one arm tight around her torso so she didn’t collapse onto the bed as he thrust. It was as if he were trying to mark her so thoroughly that she would never be able to wash his scent off her body again.

Practically sick with weariness and emotional upheaval, she wondered if she’d even be able to climax, but at last her orgasm washed over her. Derek came with her, whispering words into her ear that she pretended she was too tired to understand.

The next morning, she woke up alone, and got ready for school in a daze.  As soon as she climbed into Stiles’ Jeep, he handed her keys over. “I found them in the parking lot.”

She dropped them into her purse. “Thanks.”

He shifted into first gear. “Are you worried about leaving this afternoon? Don’t worry. Scott’ll walk you out. I mean, I would do it, but probably I’d just end up adding myself to the ever-expanding victim list.”

“Thanks,” she replied with a half-hearted laugh. “I’m fine.”

“You look fine.” She rolled her eyes, and he changed the subject in a hurry. “So. Another day, another torture session and dead body?”

The lighthearted tone didn’t fool her. “We’re all going to have PTSD. You know that, right?”

“Yep. Know any psychologists who specialize in trauma precipitated by proximity to supernatural creatures?”

“Maybe I should look into that if the math thing doesn’t work out.”

Jackson seemed to be looking at her oddly all day, but when she snapped, “What do you want?” he couldn’t come up with an answer.

“Are you feeling better?” Allison asked her at lunch. “You must’ve gotten sick really fast if you forgot your stuff in the parking lot.”

“Who told you I was sick?” Lydia asked, doing her best to act normal.

Allison dropped her gaze. Lydia couldn’t tell if the shadows in her eyes were from the secrets or from guilt. “My mom did.”

For once, Lydia managed to finish her homework without interruption. Derek didn’t come to see her that night. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter.

Stiles jumped to walk next to her when she came through the front doors of the school the next day. “I need to borrow a hundred and fifty dollars.”

Lydia brushed her hair out of her face, still thinking about Derek. “Okay.”

“Lydia. _Lydia._ ”

“What?” she asked, turning to him with a frown. “I said okay.”

He frowned back. “I know you did, but I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“I was.” At his skeptical look, she said, “You need a hundred and fifty dollars. Wait. Why do you need that much money?”

“To go to a rave,” Scott said.

Stifling a squeak of fear, Lydia pivoted to glare at him. “I didn’t see you back there!”

“Uh… sorry?” He walked faster so that he was between Stiles and her. “Better?”

“Much,” she said with a sniff. “Why do you need to go to a rave?”

Scott dropped his voice to a whisper. “Because I saw Jackson buying a ticket, and he looked weird while he was doing it. Kanima-level weird.”

“What does Derek think?” she asked, apropos of nothing.

“He isn’t answering his phone.”

“Great.” Lydia shrugged. “I’ll get the money for you as soon as school is over. Fifty dollars a ticket is really cheap. It’ll probably suck.”

Stiles and Scott exchanged a confused glance, and then Stiles said, “The tickets are seventy-five ea—oops.”

Her voice climbed to a near-shriek. “Are you _kidding_ me?” People turned to stare. Restraining the urge to stamp her foot, Lydia dropped her tone to a whisper. “Stiles, you’re as human as I am! Maybe more. Why do you get to go? And you had better not say ‘because I’m a boy.’”

“Because I’m Scott’s best friend,” he said.

“No. _No_.” Lydia spun her lock with unnecessary force to the right numbers and jerked her locker door open. “I am giving you enough money for three tickets. That’s final.”

After another shared glance, Stiles sighed. “I’ll stay home.”

“That isn’t what I want!” Avoiding the sight of her own face in the mirror hanging on the inside of her door, she pulled a couple of books out. “I don’t want to find out what’s going on when I come out of yet another trance next to yet another corpse. I need to be there. And that means you should be too. We might not be werewolves, but they have to have _some_ limitations that we don’t.”

“I haven’t found any,” Stiles said. She scowled at him. “Fine. You’re coming.”

“ _Thank_ you.” Closing the door, Lydia turned and leaned against it, hoping the knocking in her knees didn’t show too much. “Besides, Jackson used to do whatever I wanted. Maybe I haven’t lost my touch entirely. I could be useful.”

Scott shook his head. “I really hope there’s _some_ of the old Jackson left in there. Because otherwise, I don’t know what to do. There has to be some way to save him.”

“Or kill him,” Stiles said.

“We’re not killing him!” Scott and Lydia said in unison, and then the first bell rang.

Still suspicious, Lydia added, “Come to think of it, I’m going to go with you when you buy it the tickets.  I don’t trust you two to include me.” Or maybe she just didn’t want to be alone, but there was no reason they had to know that.

Judging by the expressions on their faces, they might have known it anyway. They spared her pride if they did, though. Scott said, “Sure. I’ll meet you at the front door at the last bell.”

“All right.” Heading to class, Lydia pulled out her phone and texted, _Are you okay?_ to Derek.

 _Clingy, much?_ her mother’s voice chided in her head.

 _It’s a reasonable question, given his circumstances,_ Lydia defended herself.

 _He’ll start thinking you care,_ her father’s voice warned.

 _And we can’t have that, can we, Dad?_ she thought, and then realized she was being sarcastic with a figment of her imagination.

All of the voices in her head stayed unhelpfully silent, though, when she checked her phone at lunch and then again at the end of the school day. No messages. Maybe she should go by the warehouse to see if he’d returned there? But now that Peter knew where it was, it wouldn’t really be safe. She could ask Scott to accompany her… but that would mean admitting to him that she was worried.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asked, peering over her shoulder.

Shoving her phone into her purse, Lydia turned to give him a smile. “Of course. Let’s go.”


	15. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia finds Derek at a rave. Dancing does not ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue's done so things should be finished relatively quickly! Thanks to einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted for their notes on this chapter. I still don't own TW.

The rave was, as predicted, lame. Lydia knew she’d been right as soon as she saw Mr. Harris’ car parked outside.

“We should go,” she announced, pulling in behind Stiles and throwing the car into park. “This is all going to be wasted effort. Unless our science teacher is the target for the kanima, because in that case I say let it go to town.”

Isaac snorted, softly, but looked down at his hands, whitened from the force of their grip on each other. “I’m not sure why we’re here.”

“ _I’m_ here because I insisted on being included.” Lydia broke out her compact and powdered her nose, pretending she wasn’t looking for a flash of blue eyes in the reflected alley. “And _you’re_ here because we need all the help we can get.” Plus, she really hated the idea of leaving him alone. She couldn’t have said why.

“I’m not going to be much help,” he said.

A little exasperated, she reached for his chin with a careful finger and lifted his face to look at her. “Did you hear what Stiles found out?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze with clear reluctance. “All the victims, except my dad, were 24-year-olds.”

“And what did you say they had in common?”

“I’m not sure,” Isaac said, too quickly. She gave him a minatory look. “Okay. Maybe I remember seeing them all around the house back when they were in high school, on my dad’s swim team. If I’m not wrong. I could be wrong. But maybe.”

“Exactly.” Lydia smiled with satisfaction, though her primary emotion was worry. “We need you. See?”

_We need you, Derek,_ she thought, opening the door to get out. _Where the hell are you?_ Just thinking his name hurt.

“Okay,” Stiles said, hefting a black plastic bag over his shoulder. “Lydia, you want to help with this?”

Lydia started to assent without thinking, but then reconsidered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, the implications hitting him, but Scott and Isaac exchanged a puzzled glance before Scott said, “You’re human, Lydia.”

She could tell he meant it as both reassurance and compliment, and smiled at him. “Thank you. But… let’s not risk it, hmm? Too much is riding on this. Isaac can help.”

“I’m definitely human,” he agreed with a shrug, and set off with Stiles for the back of the building.

“Let’s go inside and see if we can spot anything,” Scott said, heading towards the door. A heavy bass beat permeated the air and made the ground beneath them vibrate. “Still no Derek, huh?”

Shaking her head, Lydia pulled her purse strap up higher on her shoulder, ignoring the impulse to pull her phone out and check it for the thousandth time. “No Derek.” Time to change the subject. “Where’s Allison?”

His expression shifted into grimness. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing hunting the kanima.”

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually,” Lydia said.

“Her whole family would want to kill me. Worse, she’d break up with me.” He rubbed his eyes wearily, but she could still see the desperation. “I can’t lose her.”

_Yes you can,_ she wanted to tell him. _You can lose anyone._ But she thought about how she felt after just a day without hearing from Derek, and kept the words unspoken. Instead, she suggested, “Inside?”

“Inside,” he agreed, grabbed her hand, and led the way through the door.

Even Lydia had to fight the urge to clap her hands over her ears when they entered the darkened warehouse, cringing from the assault of noise and light. Scott handled it better than he had at Jungle, but she could still read the tension in his shoulders. Scanning the crowd for Jackson’s face, she instead saw another visage that rang a bell, but she couldn’t quite place where she knew the girl from.

“Scott?” shouted a disbelieving voice from behind them.

Lydia spun with Scott, pulled by his hold on her hand, and saw Allison standing there, looking murderous.

“Hey!” Scott exclaimed, a wide grin breaking out on his guileless features. “What’re you doing here?”

Prying free from his unconscious grip, Lydia said, “No. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking, Lydia?” Allison asked through clenched teeth.

“That I’m here with Scott.” Lydia took a step away from him. “I’m not. We’re not. We… just…”

Scott looked from her to Allison and back again. “What? Oh. _Oh._ No, wait, Allison, that’s not it.”

The shocked denial brought a smile to Allison’s face, albeit a small one. “Then why are you here? How could you even afford it?”

Lydia stepped in before Scott could lie, terribly. “I asked him to come with me to find my—my boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Allison, far from looking surprised, seemed relieved, then wary. “Wait. You didn’t get back together with Jackson, did you?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. Oh, shit, there he is.” Lydia stepped behind Allison and Scott out of instinct, and they closed ranks in front of her, standing shoulder to shoulder. Peering around Allison’s arm, Lydia watched as Jackson wove through the crowd, head tilted just a little too sharply, eyes unblinking. He was under the control of his master.

_I wonder if he wanted it,_ she thought. _I wonder if it was a relief, not to have to worry about being the best anymore._

“He’s going to kill that girl,” she realized in the next moment.

Both Scott and Allison twisted to look at her. Allison asked first. “Which girl?”

“I just remember where I recognized her from. I saw her picture in the yearbook that Stiles brought over.” She pointed to the event coordinator, standing on the low stage with the DJ and playing with her phone. “She was in the same class as the other victims.”

“Let’s go after him,” Scott said. With a nod, Allison led the way onto the dance floor. Only then did Lydia realize that she had failed to ask why Jackson would kill anyone.

A hand beneath her elbow began propelling her toward the entryway before her mind registered the movement. Digging her heels into the ground, Lydia did her best to wrench her arm away, but she just ended up falling to one knee, dangling from the other person’s grip. She looked up to see Erica Reyes laughing at her.

“Ugh.” Lydia used Erica’s grasp to lift herself back up. “What do you want?”

Erica shrugged. “I’m just being a good beta, doing what my Alpha tells me. C’mon. He’s your Alpha too.”

“I want a recall vote,” Lydia muttered, but allowed herself to be towed through the plastic strips hanging from the ceiling. If things got bad, she’d scream for Scott. Hopefully the earplugs wouldn’t prove to be her undoing.

She heard Peter’s purr before her eyes adjusted. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Lydia blinked, trying to make out the looming shadow behind his shoulder. Another new recruit? Erica dropped her arm and moved to stand beside Peter.

“Oh, don’t mind Derek, he’s just here for backup.”

She gasped before she could stop herself, and then had to shove down a flare of self-hatred. Now she could see Derek, staring somewhere past her head, avoiding eye contact like a pro. “What do you want, Peter?”

“I want you to leave Jackson alone.”

Lydia shrugged. “No problem. Can I go?”

“I don’t think you understand me.” He moved closer, so that she had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze. “I want you and _everybody else_ to leave Jackson alone.”

Concentrating on keeping her breath even, Lydia said, “I can’t control Scott.” Some devil made her add, “Any more than you can.” Past Peter, she saw a smirk flicker around the corners of Derek’s mouth. So. Not quite the dutiful pack member.

The next instant, all traces of amusement vanished when Peter grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, jerking her off balance. “I’m glad you find his reluctance so amusing, sweetheart, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to do your part to get him on our side. Otherwise, the consequences to your happiness are going to be dire.”

“Why do you want Jackson free so badly?” she asked, rather than agree. “Who’s the second kanima?” Erica leaned forward, curiosity lighting up her eyes. Clearly Lydia wasn’t the only pack member Peter kept in the dark.

“There is no second kanima.” He tightened his fist around her hair and gave it an admonitory shake. “And there won’t be, unless you let Jackson do what he came to do tonight. So be a good girl and go out there and distract Scott and Allison, _without_ telling them I’m here. Or do I need to remind you what’s at stake?”

“No.” She resisted the urge to kick him, or scratch at his eyes. “You don’t.”

“Good.” Peter yanked back again, exposing her throat to his predatory gaze. “Such a smart little beta.” He kissed her pulse. Behind him, Derek made a sudden, abortive movement. “Ah, ah, ah, nephew. We both know I’ve got prior claim as Alpha. I was nice and let you share my toy, but now that you’re back in the fold, well, let’s just say I have no further incentive to hand her over.” He smiled down, face inches from Lydia’s own. “In any case, I’m pretty sure she’ll be thanking me soon. Subtlety was always lost on you, but it’s a valuable skill in bed as well as out.”

Derek’s face went completely blank. Erica gave him a speculative side-eye.

Lydia blinked, and suddenly the three werewolves stood several feet away, all of them staring at her. Her throat hurt. She staggered on her heels.

“Go on,” Peter said.

Neck aching, and scalp prickling, she headed back into the main area, fighting back tears of humiliation and confusion. Squinting through the flashing lights, she saw Allison talking to her father in one dark corner while Scott slipped through more plastic strips to an area behind the DJ. Lydia wove her way through the chaotic mass of dancers, trying to stay upright as they jostled her back and forth. At least half were obviously too high to feel anything, so she didn’t bother with remorse about jabbing her elbows out to clear her path.

“Ugh. It must be nice to be that out of it,” she grumbled to herself, and emerged from the crowd in time to see Scott dash out again, eyes flashing yellow. “What is it?”

“She’s dead,” he said, biting out the words. “Allison’s dad came in and we had to split up, and while I was avoiding him Jackson got by us all.”

On the one hand, at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about the girl’s death, but on the other hand… “Where’s Jackson now? Any idea who’s controlling him?”

“I don’t know how I’d even tell,” he replied. “I guess I could look to see who’s watching him, but—”

“Everybody watches him,” she finished. “At least he’s trapped in the building, if the mountain ash worked, but with the Argents here it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll stay alive.” The thought sickened her. If she had to watch Jackson be pierced by arrows she might never recover, even if he did.

“I heard you scream, but I couldn’t get to you before you came back out on the dance floor,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Lydia gave him a puzzled glance. “I didn’t scream. I’m fine.”

“No, I heard you.” Scott seemed equally confused.

“I’m fine,” she said again.

He shook his head in befuddlement. “Why are you lying?”

A better question would be how in the hell he could hear her heartbeat through the music and the earplugs to know that. Fortunately a distraction presented itself. “And there’s Kate Argent.”

“Shit.” Scott tried to make himself look small behind Lydia, which had a predictably ludicrous effect. “Did she see me?”

“I don’t think she’s looking for you.”

Kate surveyed the room, apparently unruffled by the din and the lights. She wasn’t even bothering trying to hide the sawed-off shotgun by her side, but no one seemed to notice.

“We have to find Jackson.” Scott started edging toward the wall, keeping his face turned away from Kate. Lydia followed, and then bumped into him when he came to an abrupt halt. “Do you hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything except this stupid dubstep!” she shouted back.

He started shoving his way through the crowd, but she heard the word he shouted. “Gunshots.”


	16. Fine Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia finds her own answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted for their help.
> 
> Still not Teen Wolf's owner.

“Oh God, Derek,” Lydia breathed, following in the gaps Scott created, before she remembered that she should, by all rights, be way more worried about Stiles and Isaac.

Just as she was about to step through the door, a hand grabbed her jacket and yanked her to the side. Lydia fell against a familiar body. At first she embraced him in relief, but then she remembered his behavior and shoved herself away as much as she could within the circle of his arms.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek demanded, face grim. “The Argents are out for blood and you’re going to walk into a firefight?”

Lydia set her jaw and willed herself not to get teary-eyed. “What am _I_ doing? You’re with Peter and you think you have the right to question me?”

He set her a little bit away from him, though she noticed that he still kept his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and dropped his gaze to the floor. “He’s my Alpha.”

“The man who killed your sister,” she said, words dripping with disbelief and scorn. “The man who bit me and is doing everything he can to ensure that Jackson can keep killing people. You’re going to be loyal to him now. _You_ must have known that when you went back to him, he’d take that as a sign that you were handing me over, even if I didn’t, and you’re okay with that? With me being bait for you and a prize for him?”

“I can’t be an Omega again.” He glanced up at her, his shoulders bowed. “I just can’t.”

“But you’re not alone anymore!” She found herself clutching at his shirt like a lifeline, but couldn’t force her fingers to release. “You’re in our pack now. Derek, _please_.” He shook his head again. A growl of sheer frustration escaped from her mouth. “Don’t _do_ this.” To her humiliation, she heard herself add, “Don’t break up with me.”

Derek’s impassivity dropped for a moment, banished by misery. His arms closed around her again, drawing her to him, and she listened to the words vibrating in his chest. “Lydia, you have to...”

“Have to what?” Her body didn’t believe what her mind was telling her; it melted into his and tried to trick her into believing she was safe there.

Derek didn’t seem to have anything to say, but he kissed her. She couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back.

Gunshots boomed outside, loud enough this time even for Lydia’s ears. Breaking free of his embrace, she ran outside to see Stiles on his knees, face white, pressing two hands to Isaac’s bleeding side.

Chris Argent had his sister’s arm twisted up behind her back while she laughed. “I told him to move out of the way!” He jerked her arm up a little more, and she grunted, but kept her smile. “C’mon, Chris, he’s on their side, obviously. That doesn’t even count as collateral damage.”

“He’s just a kid!” Chris shouted.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Allison fell to her knees next to Isaac. Lydia started; she hadn’t even noticed her friend coming out of the building.

“Your aunt has a morality deficiency,” she answered, helping move Isaac’s clothes out of the way so they could inspect the wound.

“Just another day in Argent world.” Peter Hale surveyed the scene from the doorway.

Instantly, Chris dropped Kate’s arm. They both, along with a couple of men behind them, aimed their weapons at the werewolf.

“I wouldn’t.” Peter blurred, and the next moment, he was holding Allison by the throat, her feet dangling in the air. “Break the barrier, Chris.”

Allison whimpered. Following Peter’s gaze, Lydia saw the line of black powder surrounding the warehouse. Erica kept a wary eye on the Argents and edged behind her Alpha.

Chris spoke calmly, even though Lydia could tell by the color draining from his features that he was anything but. “Lydia, Stiles, listen to me very carefully. You both need to get Isaac out of here.”

Stiles and Lydia exchanged a glance filled with dread, but Stiles was the one who said, “No,” at the same time as Peter.

“If you cross the barrier, Peter can’t get you.”

“I wouldn’t be _in_ the barrier if your bitch sister hadn’t shot Isaac and made him fall over the edge of the mountain ash.” Stiles moved his hands out of the way to show Lydia. “I think it’s just a graze.”

“Neither of us knows enough about anatomy to be sure there’s nothing vital there.” Lydia took off her sweater and folded it into a compress, ignoring the deja vu making her insides churn. Her wrist throbbed with pain. “Use this.”

Scott came running around the corner of the building and skidded to a halt, eyes wide with horror. “Peter, let her go!”

"Scott, you know I’d love to do you any favor I can, but there’s just that lack of trust between us holding me back. Break the barrier, Chris," Peter said again. Drops of fresh blood splattered on the asphalt next to Lydia. When she looked up, she saw Allison's neck dripping. Scott’s face did a weird half-shift, and then returned to normal. Hopefully none of the Argents noticed.

Kate spoke, all sense of fun absent from her countenance for once. "Chris, do it."

Chris swiped at his face with one elbow, getting sweat out of his eyes, but his gun never wavered from its target. "The kanima can get out if I do."

"So we'll catch it again."

A scream rang through the air, coming from the warehouse. Someone must have found the body. Seconds later, people started streaming from the doors, yet the mountain ash remained undisturbed. Lydia guessed it required intent to undo its boundary. In their frantic rush, nobody seemed to notice the drama going on right in front of them, except for one dark-haired boy who stopped right at the mountain ash and spun on his heel. “Allison?”

Peter, far from being alarmed, laughed. “Scott, is this guy your rival? Oh, that is _good_.”

“Matt,” Allison whimpered, hands rising to close around Peter’s wrists. “Run.”

Matt, whoever he was, narrowed his eyes, and the kanima burst through an air vent overhead. Erica staggered back from the giant lizard, then bounced forward onto her hands and knees as if repelled from a trampoline when she hit the boundary. The kanima whipped its tail. She collapsed. Derek ran out of the warehouse, completely wolfed out, and jumped onto its back, but it threw him off with a shrug of its speckled shoulders. Matt ducked as Derek flew over his head to crash into the nearest wall. Scott ran to attack and had the exact same thing happen to him, falling into a boneless heap beside Erica.

That was enough. Lydia turned to Stiles and screamed, “Do it now!”

“I thought you didn’t want him to die!” he shouted back, just as Chris and Kate both emptied their weapons into the kanima. Lydia clapped her hands over her ears and screamed again. The kanima staggered a little from the bullets, but then straightened and hissed, totally unfazed.

“Now would be a good time, Stiles,” Peter said, watching the Argents reload.

Head moving frantically to watch one disaster after another, Stiles yelled, “Shit!” and waved his hand over the ash, dispelling it, before resuming the pressure on Isaac’s side. The kanima leaped away. Derek and Erica, at a glance from Peter, darted through the line and disappeared after it. Lydia would have warned Allison but she was too slow; her friend stabbed Peter with the knife from the sheath at her waist. With a noise of disgusted annoyance, Peter flung her into a corner, where she lay crumpled and still, and started away. Chris and Kate ran to her side.

Already healing, Peter paused next to Isaac, head cocked. “Seems a waste,” he mused, and knelt.

“No,” Stiles said, and Lydia shouted, “Peter, _don’t_!” But it didn’t make any difference, of course.

By the time the ambulances arrived, the bite marks had stopped bleeding.

* * *

“Want me to come up?” Stiles asked at Lydia’s front stoop. The worry on his face robbed the question of any self-interest she might have suspected.

She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what she was going to say. Fortunately her mother flung open the door.

“Lydia, sweetie, why are you two lurking outside?” She wrapped her arm around Lydia’s shoulder, pulling her inside. “Hello, Stiles. Come on in. I swear you’ve been seeing more of my daughter than I have. Can I get you something to drink?”

Stiles proved he could display decent manners when properly motivated. “Some water would be nice, thank you.”

“Of course!” Mrs. Martin bustled into the kitchen. Lydia stared at the floor, trying to muster up some sort of appropriate reaction to… anything.

“Lydia?” Stiles ducked to look into her eyes. “You okay?”

When Jackson had dumped her, she’d understood it. Well, not right away, but as soon as she’d found out about the werewolves the light had dawned. He’d been dating her because she was the best, the most superior female he could attain. She’d been his next rung on the ladder going up. But once he was a werewolf, assuming the transformation had done its job instead of mutating, he would be superior. Time to upgrade.

So it was all comprehensible and completely in character. It wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t predicted it, because she hadn’t had all the information she needed.

Derek, on the other hand, made _no sense._

“Here you go,” her mother said, offering Stiles a glass. “Are you headed up to Lydia’s room?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, so she would leave them alone.

“All right. Good night!” Mrs. Martin gave her a peck on the cheek and walked into the TV room.

Stiles drained his glass and then took it back to the kitchen. When he returned, Lydia led the way to her room.

Closing the door behind him, Stiles leaned on it and surveyed her with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “What did Derek say? Anything?”

“Nothing.” Nothing important. Nothing that would tell her why she was so disposable. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Are you staying or going?”

“Which would be better?”

She wanted to ask him to stay, but having a guy who was barely recovering from a lifelong crush comfort her for the second time about an unceremonious breakup was really putting too much strain on the bonds of friendship. “I guess, go. But thanks for following me home. Let me know if Isaac gets worse?”

“Will do.” He caught his breath, as if swallowing the words he wanted to say, and turned to leave.

Lydia moved with mechanical precision through her next few tasks. Brush teeth. Shower. Put on her nightgown. Re-bandage her wrist. Get in bed. Turn out the light.

 _He’s nothing. You haven’t been stupid enough to actually believe someone like that is important, have you?_ her father’s voice asked.

 _Sweetie, men come and go. Turn around and get a new one tomorrow. Show him what he’s missing,_ her mother’s voice encouraged.

She ignored them and whispered to the side of the bed where Derek belonged. “You said you loved me.”

His voice replied, _I thought you didn’t hear._

_I wish I hadn’t._

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, but this time none of the voices offered an answer.

* * *

After a horrible weekend, Lydia went straight from school to Dr. Deaton’s and walked to the back without being invited.

“Lydia!” Scott looked up with his usual goofy grin. “What’s up?”

She dropped her purse on a nearby counter. “Where’s your boss?”

“He’s…” Scott pointed behind her, and she spun to see Deaton standing in the entryway.

“You.” She narrowed her eyes and stalked toward him. Deaton’s eyes widened, but he stood his ground. Stopping about an inch away from his chest, Lydia angled her head back to glare at him.  “You know things. I need to know things. And now you’re going to tell me the things I need to know.”

He raised his brows, infuriatingly unruffled. “What _do_ you need to know, Lydia?”

Thrown off-balance by his ready acquiescence, she fell silent for a moment, then gathered her wits. “For starters, why does Peter want to keep Jackson on the loose so badly?”

“Ah.” He stepped past her to set a tray on the counter next to her purse. “Now that, I don’t know, and can’t even hazard a guess.”

“But you do know Jackson’s the kanima.”

Deaton gave Scott a quick smile. “So I’ve been told, yes.”

Time to switch gears. “Why do I keep having blackout episodes?”

The smile disappeared. “Describe them, please.” Once she had, he stayed silent so long that she considered screaming with nerves and frustration, but at last he said, “That’s worrisome.”

Lydia exchanged a glance with Scott, who looked as worried as she felt. “Why?”

He didn’t answer directly. Of course. “Do me a favor. Go home and ask your mother about the circumstances surrounding your birth.”

“The circumstances surrounding my birth?” she echoed, filing through her mind for a connection and failing.

“Yes, and then come back and talk to me about what she tells you.”

Lydia stood for a moment in the following silence, searching for a way to ask him why Derek would have completely lost his mind and failing. Finally, she said, “Fine.”

She picked up her purse, but before she could walk out, Scott said, “You knew Derek when he was a kid, right?”

Lydia could have kissed him, but then she would have missed Deaton’s reply. “Yes, although I was closer to his mother.”

Scott shook his head. “I don’t understand why he would go back to Peter as his Alpha, even after everything he did. It’s so weird.”

Sighing, Deaton sat down on a nearby stool. “I’m not certain about why he would do that either. It seems… out of character, especially given how much he’d associated with your pack lately. Family ties are often tighter among werewolves than they are among humans, and exert a stronger pull on behavior, but this is aberrant, since Peter killed Derek’s Alpha intentionally. If anything, Derek should be trying to kill him. But he always played his cards close to his chest, even when he was younger and less--”

“Stone-faced? Emotionally unavailable? A total dick?” Lydia offered.

Deaton huffed with laughter. “I was going to say, ‘less wounded.’”

Lydia rolled her eyes, ignoring the fine line of pain that drew through her heart at the words. “Fine. Phrase it however you like.”

Scott walked her out to her car. She paused before closing the door. “Thanks for asking Deaton about Derek.”

“I’m worried about him too.” Scott looked out around the parking lot. His nostrils flared. She knew now what he was doing: searching for a scent.

“He’s part of your pack,” she said, but she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

“Only if he wants to be.” He ducked his head into the car, closer to hers. “Same with you. I think, now that you’ve been bitten, you have to choose. Or you can be an Omega, but it seems dangerous.”

“I choose your pack,” she said. No thought required on that count.

Scott grinned. “I was kinda hoping you would. Go home and ask your mom?”

“Yep.”

As it turned out, she had to wait for her mom to get home, since Mrs. Martin never left work early if she didn’t need to do so. Lydia handed her the cup of coffee she’d prepared as soon as she heard her mother pull into the driveway and waited for her to drink it before asking, “Can you tell me about what happened when I was born?”

Mrs. Martin looked up from her mail, eyebrows arched in surprise. Her friends all got Botox, but she refused, saying immobility of the forehead was a more certain giveaway of a woman’s age than wrinkles. “When you were born? Well, let’s see. That was 1995, so, Newt Gingrich took over as Speaker of the House…”

Lydia smiled in spite of her hurry. “I meant, the story of my birth. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

“Oh.” Mrs. Martin set down her coffee. “What brings this up, sweetie?”

“Just curious. You’ve never mentioned anything about it.” Lydia sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“There’s a reason for that, actually.” Her mother gave a strained smile. “I don’t remember it.”

Lydia tried to stifle the stab of hurt and failed. “What? Why not?”

“Well, I almost died. You _did_ die.” The smile got wobblier around the edges. “I was in labor for a while, and everything seemed to be going fine, but then… everything’s kind of fuzzy in my memory, but I remember the monitors going off, and there was a lot of blood, and then the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a post-op room. They said--” Her voice cracked, then strengthened. “Your heart stopped twice. The second time it took so long to resuscitate you that your father said the doctor was starting to whisper about calling your death, but they kept trying and you were so strong. You came back.” Mrs. Martin laced her fingers together and gazed at them for a moment, eyes glittering. “I don’t like to think about it very much. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being asleep while you were fighting for your life.”

So many answers to that, and most of them derogatory, but it wasn’t her mother’s fault that she didn’t know about werewolves who could sneak through her daughter’s window, or bite her on lacrosse fields. Those tears were real. “There wasn’t anything you could have done if you’d been there. I’m sorry I made you talk about it.”

Mrs. Martin took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “It’s fine.” Her phone buzzed. “Oh, that’s Troy. Excuse me, sweetie.”

Lydia walked up the stairs and sat at her vanity. She still hadn’t emptied out the wastebasket since the first time Derek had spent the night, so she fished through the pieces until she found a large enough sliver to see the majority of her face in the reflection. Instead of looking, though, she held it in her lap. Maybe she should call Deaton.

No. She didn’t need him.

Lifting the mirror shard up and away, she looked herself in the eye and said, “All right. I’m waiting. Come over here and show yourself.”

Nothing. The reflection was only her own face. Maybe she'd been imagining those weird moments when it looked like something else entirely.

“Look. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of all these mysterious _incidents_ and I’d like to take Peter out once and for all. If you’re not interested in that, fine. I’ll do it myself.” Brave words, without a lot to back them up, but maybe she could convince herself along with the girl in the mirror.

She held her breath and waited.

Finally, it happened: the reflection's mouth quirked up into a wry smile.

Lydia gasped, and then said, “About time.”

* * *

“So, I don’t get it,” Stiles said, feverishly Googling _doppelgänger_. “Did she talk to you? Was it like talking to yourself?”

“Not even a little bit.” Lydia settled on Isaac’s bed next to his sleeping form. He inched closer, but his eyes stayed clamped shut. “It’s more like thinking. Only I have to pick out the thoughts that don’t belong to me. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but a mind is a chaotic place. Trying to figure out if my own brain made the connection between Peter being caught in the fire at the Hale house and the young Peter in the mirror world is a pain in the ass.”

“The mirror world?” Stiles hit the down arrow key. “Look, this says that sometimes the effect can be due to a failure of the left temporoparietal junction.”

“Stiles. I cannot believe I’m having to convince you that something is supernatural, but it _is._ The mirror world is what she calls it. She’s stuck there, but she doesn’t seem to mind.” Lydia gave Isaac’s head an absentminded pat. “She does mind having Peter there, though.”

Stiles still looked worried. “A lot of people have near-death experiences and don’t think they see their doubles after they recover.”

“I know. But how many people have _two_ of those experiences separated by sixteen years? And…” Lydia hesitated, but hell, this whole thing was already weird, so why not make it weirder? “There’s some speculation that left-handed individual births are those who absorbed their twins in utero.”

Sounding equal parts revolted and fascinated, Stiles asked, “So maybe she’s your twin who’s also you but who was left behind when you crossed back?”

“I think so. Maybe.” Lydia picked at the sheet bunched up at the foot of the bed. Isaac was a restless sleeper. “I wonder if this is why I couldn’t be turned. Maybe since I’m already supernatural the bite doesn’t work on me. I wish I could ask Derek.” The pain wasn’t fading. Every time she thought of him, her stomach clenched in anticipation of the ache.

Stiles finally turned away from the computer to face her. “It still doesn’t explain why you keep finding people who are going to die.”

“I don’t. She does. The impression I got is that the mirror world is someplace people usually pass through on their way… somewhere else, after they die. She can tell, sometimes, where people are about to die by supernatural means and she goes there in the mirror world. Ever since the bite, I’ve gone too. Or rather, we’ve switched places during those times.”

“That would explain why you’re useful to Peter.” Stiles tapped his fingers on the desk as he thought. “He can follow you to wherever the kanima’s going to be.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lydia scooted back onto the bed to cross her legs. “It still doesn’t explain what he meant when he said I’m his backup plan, but at least now I think I know why he’s keeping me around. I just need to figure out how to get him out of my head. For all I can tell, he’s listening in right now.”

Sitting up straighter, Stiles asked, “How would he have known what you are, though?”

“Maybe…” Lydia hesitated. “This is weird.”

“Well, the rest of my life is so normal that this provides a welcome change from the status quo. C’mon, spit it out.”

Lydia breathed out a laugh. “The blue-eyed boy? He’s not all of Peter, he’s a part of Peter on the other side. Some of him died in the Hale house fire, I think.”

“The soul part of him? The conscience part of him?”

“Both. Neither. I don’t know, but he’s evil.”

“He’s fucking Voldemort,” Stiles said. “You better not be a Horcrux.”


	17. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone give einfach_mich and grrlinterrupted three cheers for sticking with me for the RIDICULOUS length of time it took to write the end of this fic. Speaking of that, thank you beautiful readers for doing the same. :-*
> 
> Still not Teen Wolf's owner.

Lydia knew before she opened her eyes that it had happened again.

“C’mon, Lydia, wake up,” said a voice she couldn’t quite place.

_It worked,_ she thought, and she couldn’t tell if the words came from her own mind, or the mirror self’s. Too bad it had worked a little too quickly.

Blinking, she tried to focus, but what she saw was so unexpected that at first she rejected the picture. That guy Matt, wearing a striped shirt that could have stood trial for crimes against humanity, standing with the kanima’s tail wrapped around his feet. She nearly screamed a warning before she took in the expression on Matt’s face and realized what it meant.

“But I wasn’t on the swim team,” she said, and Matt laughed.

“Nah, but guess whose older brother was?” He pointed downward, where the kanima held someone in its claws. Lydia took a step forward, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Isaac, eyes wide open and face half-shifted into werewolf form, obviously paralyzed by the kanima venom. This wasn’t part of the plan she and Stiles had come up with.

She waited till her voice had steadied to speak. “Whatever that team did to you, whatever reason you have for getting revenge, I don’t believe for a second that Isaac had anything to do with it.”

He scrunched up his face, shrugging. “I have to take what I can get. The war already killed his brother, and Jackson already killed his dad.”

“That’s not enough for you?” Lydia cast her gaze around, looking for anything she could use as a weapon, even though she realized it would be hopeless.

His expression darkened. “ _It will never be enough!_ ”

The woods seemed to shake from his howling. His voice reverberated painfully in her ears. Lydia stumbled back in shock and tripped, falling down on the ground. The damp leaves clung to her skin like a welcome, dead things recognizing one of their own soon to join them.

Giving up on the notion of controlling her voice, she asked, “Why are you going to kill me, though?”

“You always seem to end up exactly where someone’s going to die, don’t you?” He moved closer. The kanima hissed, but instead of its usual malevolence the sound held a note of uncertainty. “That’s dangerous to me. I hoped having Isaac out here in the middle of nowhere would draw you to me, and it worked. You’ve always got your little entourage hanging around, protecting you, but they can’t keep you safe when you wander away from them.” His hand rose. Lydia’s heart jumped to her throat when she saw what he held: a gun, shining dully in the full moonlight. “Sorry, Lydia. But you know, you should’ve been nicer to me at school. Maybe then I would’ve tried harder to think of another plan. In a way, you brought this on yourself.”

Now that she was sure she was going to die, the impulse to placate him vanished. “Ugh. Keep telling yourself that, you little sailor-themed prick.” If she had to go, she wasn’t going to beg.

Her other self was close. Lydia could sense the mirror-girl’s hand upon her shoulder. For once, the voices of her father and mother were silent.

A branch cracked behind her. Matt’s head jerked up. He peered past her before steadying his aim and firing three times in rapid succession.

Two things happened simultaneously. A black blur streaked from the woods and knocked him sideways, and the kanima appeared between the gun and Lydia, blocking the bullets by taking them in its own chest.

Lydia screamed, and then, when the kanima turned to face her, screamed again. “No,” she sobbed, grabbing it around its waist and following it to the ground. Its features began to fade into human. “No, no, no, Jackson, it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be fine—” The bullets at the club hadn’t wounded him, so why did he look so hurt?

A new shadow loomed over her shoulder. “That’s disappointing.” Peter tilted his head, eyes reddening. “If he’s willing to buck his master’s orders that greatly, then he might be willing to disobey me. What’s the point of a disobedient monster?” His nostrils flared as he sniffed. “Those are wolf’s bane bullets. He must have sent the kanima in to steal them from the Argents after he figured out what we were. Ah well. One’s better than none. Besides, your attitude’s always been off-putting.” And, wasting no more time, he unsheathed his claws to plunge them deep into Jackson’s chest and stomach.

Robbed of any protest by sheer horror, Lydia fluttered her hands uselessly over the deep gashes that he left behind. Even she could see it was too late to help Jackson, but she couldn’t just _watch_. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry too,” he mouthed. He gave her a bloody-toothed smile. “I should have—”

His eyes didn’t close, but his breathing stopped.

Lydia jerked back to her feet in horror.

“Well, would you look at that?” Peter, already bored, had turned his attention to where Matt had stood. Derek hunched over Isaac on all fours, face lupine, as he gazed warily up at another kanima. “I guess that final injustice is what tipped the scale. Come here, you lovely creature, you.”

The kanima approached, and Lydia saw a scrap of Matt’s striped shirt hanging from its shoulder. Peter stretched out his hand. The kanima extended its own in response, and the two palms met.

“Much better.” Peter smiled. “See? They deserve everything that’s coming to them.”

“Who does?” Lydia asked, trying not to think about the corpse on the ground before her, trying not to picture herself lying beside him.

“The Argents, of course,” Peter said with a chastising _tut_. “I really appreciate you being such an excellent guide, Lydia, but you’re going to have to try to keep up if you want to stay useful. And alive.”

Speaking of useful, and alive… “Where’s Erica?”

“Oh, chained up. It’s for her own good. She’s still too young to handle the full moon.”

Lydia looked past him at Derek, who sniffed at Isaac. “Is he okay?”

“I think so,” Derek replied. “It’s just the same paralyzing venom that it used on you, so it should wear off soon.”

Maybe Scott and Stiles had for once had enough good sense to stay away. Maybe they were at home sleeping, instead of following her the way they’d promised. Maybe Jackson wasn’t dead. Maybe werewolves were fairy tales and mirrors didn’t speak. Despair had risen around her when she was too traumatized to pay attention, and now it threatened to drown her in its depths.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Lydia asked the most important questions. “Are you going to kill all the Argents? Or just Kate?” Because to be honest she didn’t care all that much if he clawed Kate into ribbons, but Allison was another matter.

Peter smiled, and the expression iced her bones. “They killed all of us.”

“Kate said she didn’t tell her brother what she was going to do,” Lydia argued. “And Allison was just a little girl back then.”

“So was my _niece_!” Peter roared, face transforming into the wolf’s as he shouted. Lydia scrambled backward, unable to control her body’s panicked reaction even though she despised her own weakness. One foot brushed Jackson’s side; she had to bite her lip to suppress an involuntary sob.

“Okay.” She held out her hands, trying to placate him. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

His face shrank back into its normal features. “Your affinity for the dying is why I bit you, Lydia—it’s something that one of our kind can sense once we’ve come as close to death as I did—but you need to be careful now. I’m not dead, and I’m not searching for a supernatural killer anymore, so it’s in your best interests to do whatever you need to do to keep me happy.”

Lydia frowned. “What do you mean, you’re not dead? Was that ever an issue?”

Peter swaggered closer, kicking one of Jackson’s legs out of the way like it was litter. The kanima padded just behind him, a reptilian shadow. Reaching out to rub her shoulders, he said, “If anything had happened—if, say, the Argents had demonstrated their usual competence rather than bumbling around—I could have used you to draw me back to the land of the living.”

And she’d thought she was cold _before_. “Okay…”

Straightening, Peter threw his head back and took a deep breath, then disappeared from her view. The kanima vanished along with him.

Isaac began struggling to sit up. Lydia turned her gaze to Derek, now fully human and unreadable. “What just happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, before a shot rang out and his shoulder jerked. Blood spurted from the wound as he fell to his knees. Isaac caught him before he could collapse to the ground.

“Kate, he hasn’t hurt anyone!” Chris Argent yelled, running into the clearing with a gun in each hand. Two men, obviously there for backup, followed.

His sister followed, her habitual grin firmly in place and shotgun slung over her shoulder. “Eh, whatever, it was just a matter of time.”

Lydia just stood in place, brain and body both refusing to deal with reality. “You shot Derek,” she said, voice gone dull with shock.

Kate shrugged.

A black shadow swept through the trees, raising a breeze that ruffled Kate and Lydia’s hair.

Stiles and Scott rushed into the clearing and skidded to a stop next to Lydia. She almost grabbed for their hands for some much-needed support, but then refrained, remembering they might need to run.

“Oh, look who it is, Chris!” Kate’s tense expression belied her delighted tone. Her eyes shifted back and forth, searching. She held her shotgun ready. “Isn’t it funny how they keep turning up around the kanima and the werewolves?”

The black shadow whipped past again. One of the Argent’s men grabbed his throat and fell, blood seeping between his fingers. Another pass, and the second man screamed. He doubled over on the ground, holding his stomach.

Kate fired her shotgun and shouted, “Come on!” to the air. Chris stayed silent, eyes narrowed as he backed toward her.

The fourth time the shadow appeared, it stopped behind Kate with her throat in its grip. The shotgun dropped to her feet. Chris shouted, raising his guns, but Peter shushed him, a strange, bitter smile twisting his features into something unrecognizable. “Chris, Chris, Chris. This really doesn’t have anything to do with you.” His claws lengthened from his fingertips, cutting into Kate’s skin to spill crimson into her collar. He spoke quietly, his words barely carrying to Lydia’s ears. “Did you know Allison is here? It doesn’t look as if she wanted you to realize she followed you, but there she is, as intrepid as her aunt.”

Scott made a panicked noise and took a step back, but then held his position. Lydia edged behind him.

Kate whimpered, grabbing at Peter’s wrist with one hand. He squeezed tighter. “If you say you’re sorry, Kate, I’ll let her live. Say you’re sorry for killing my family. For murdering children. Say it.”

Tears shining in her eyes, Kate whispered, “I’m… sorry… I didn’t finish the job sooner,” and stabbed him in the thigh with the knife she held in her other hand.

Peter howled, but before he could slash her jugular, Derek, Isaac, and a third figure pounced on him, shoving Kate out of the way and tearing into the Alpha with snarls and howls.

The mirror-girl thought, _finish it now._ Or maybe that was Lydia. She blinked, and the next thing she knew she was in Stiles’ arms, throat sore and cheeks damp, with four very concerned boys bent over her.

Four.

Derek, Isaac, Scott…

And _Jackson._

“It’s so cute,” Kate said, and Lydia stood, leaning heavily on Stiles. “Like she’s their little Alpha.”

Chris shook his head, face grim. “I don’t know what she is, but she hasn’t caused any harm.”

“No… but this one has.” Without warning, Kate raised her gun and fired three rapid rounds into the trees. A second later, the kanima tumbled from the branches and thudded to the earth.

Stiles and Lydia clutched at each other while the werewolves growled. Only Scott managed to maintain his human face, with what Lydia guessed was the strength of desperation not to get dumped.

The kanima slowly morphed into a very dead Matt.

“I thought wolf’s bane would do it.” Kate gave a satisfied nod and prodded at Matt’s head with her toe. “All three rounds, right in the center ring. Good work, even if I say so myself.”

Chris sighed. “We need to get going, deal with the bodies.”

Kate turned an incredulous look on him. “Uh, what? Aren’t you forgetting something? That little bastard over there who single-handedly cut through half our men and a bunch of other people?”

Chris’ shoulders slumped. Clearly he would have liked to have forgotten. “He was under the other boy’s control.”

“So the fuck what?” Kate raised her gun once more and leveled it to aim straight at Jackson. Isaac and Stiles skittered to the side, pulling Lydia with them. Derek and Scott moved to stand in front of Lydia, but Kate ignored all of them. “He’s the definition of the code. _Those who hunt us._ ”

Jackson’s eyes glowed blue, and his chest heaved with obvious terror, but he didn’t stir.

“Mr. Argent.” Scott spoke in a low voice. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t kill him.”

Chris opened his mouth, then shut it with a helpless noise.

“That’s what I thought.” Kate’s finger started to pull the trigger.

Allison’s voice echoed through the air. “Aunt Kate, _stop_!” The next second, Kate’s arm flew backward, pinned to a tree trunk by an arrow through her jacket sleeve.

She frowned, baffled, and raised the shotgun one-handed.

The next arrow caught her in the shoulder. Kate yelled with fury, her arm hanging useless by her side. “Allison, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lydia couldn’t help a spurt of satisfaction about Kate being hurt in the exact same place as Derek.

Chris ordered, “Allison, you put the bow down now.”

“No.” Allison walked into the clearing, lips trembling but aim steady and head held high. “You said—you said that they were nothing but big dumb animals.”

Kate, in spite of the pain turning her face white, laughed. “That’s exactly what they _are_ , kiddo.”

“I believed you.” Allison gave Scott a quick glance. “But then I realized… Scott isn’t like that.”

“ _What_?!” her father exclaimed.

“Goddammit, I was hoping you hadn’t figured it out yet,” Kate snarled in disgust.

“Why, so you could kill him too?” Allison looked at Scott again and smiled. Even though it was a wobbly effort, he smiled back. “I can’t let you do that. He’s not a dangerous animal. He’s a really good person, Aunt Kate, and I’m starting to think you’re not. You broke the code. You killed _kids_.”

“Allison…” her father said in a warning tone, but Allison cut him off.

“No. We have a code. We follow the code. You said that in our family, the women give the orders. And that means that if one of us breaks the rules, a woman has to hold her responsible. I’m that woman. She’s not allowed to do this anymore.”

After a long moment, Chris nodded. “All right. Your call. We need to get her to a hospital. But we are going to be talking about this… _situation_. Don’t think for one second your mother’s going to be okay with it.”

Allison lowered her bow. “Okay.” She looked around at the corpses littering the ground. “What about all of them? Should we call an ambulance?” Freed from the urgency of saving Scott, some of her control seemed to have deserted her. Her entire body shook hard enough for even Lydia to see.

Chris yanked the arrow that held Kate to the tree out of her sleeve. “I’ll make some calls. Leave them.”

Allison turned away as if she didn’t want to see her aunt anymore, instead gazing at Scott.

“You knew?” he croaked out.

She gave him a sad little smile. “You aren’t a very good liar.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” With a sudden bound, she leaped to stand in front of him, and then stretched up onto her toes to press her lips to his. The moonlight silvered her hair, surrounding her with its glow. For an instant, they were no longer Scott and Allison, but Artemis and one of the wolves who loved her.

Lydia blinked, and the illusion vanished. _I really need to get more sleep. Next I’ll be seeing Derek as Hades._

“See you,” Allison said, ducking her head, and then followed after her dad.

Lydia didn’t know where to begin. “You’re alive,” she said, pointing at Jackson. He nodded. “And naked. For God’s sake. Somebody give him something to cover up with.”

“I’m not having any article of my clothing touching his junk,” Stiles said, but she ignored him.

“And you were _late_ ,” she added, turning the accusing glare on Scott. He hunched in embarrassment. “And you—I’m glad you’re okay.” She patted Isaac’s shoulder. “But you. _You. YOU._ ”

Derek backed away warily. “Lydia—”

She screeched right over him. “This was your plan? _This was your plan?_ You didn’t even bother to tell me that you were going to get close to Peter to figure out what he wanted to do and then kill him when the moment was right? You just thought you’d let him manhandle me and threaten me and make me think that—” She snapped her mouth shut, barely cutting off the _you didn’t want me anymore._

He held out his hands in a pleading gesture. His blood-sodden sleeve pulled away from his skin with a squelch. “You said he was in your head. I didn’t know how much. If I’d told you, he might have found out from your mind.”

The fact that he was speaking the truth didn’t help. Vibrating with outrage, she stooped, picked up a fallen branch, and smacked his unhurt arm with it as hard as she could. “You _asshole_!”

“Lydia!”

“You told Isaac!”

“Not exactly,” Isaac said. “He just warned me to be ready in case we got an opportunity to take Peter out. It was kind of nice to be a part of things for once.”

“You told him _something_!” Lydia smacked the branch against Derek again. It had no visible effect other than beginning to splinter the wood. “Never.” _smack_ “Talk.” _smack_ “To me.” _smack_ “Again!”

“ _I killed my uncle for you!_ ” he roared.

“ _About fucking time!_ ” she screamed, and, turning on her heel, stalked away.

Stiles caught up with her a couple of minutes later. “You know which direction you’re heading?”

“No.” She kept going.

“Want a ride back to your house?”

“Maybe. If you promise not to say anything about what just happened.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“And just because I’m pissed at Derek doesn’t mean you get to make a move now.”

“No. Definitely not.”

“All right. Lead the way.”

She followed him for a minute, picking her way across the forest floor, before taking his silently offered arm.

Once he pulled up into her driveway, she sat, staring at the darkened house. “I wonder how I got out.”

“Through the back door. We were watching but we lost you for a little while on the way there. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you were there at the end.” She swallowed. “He said—Peter said—that even if he was dead, he could use me to get back here.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. Okay. Then I guess there has to be some way to make sure he doesn’t have a body to get back to. I’ll ask D—”

“ _Don’t_ … speak his name.”

“Right.”

“But it’s a good idea.”

He pulled out his cell phone and texted. A few seconds later, his screen lit up with a response. So, Derek still had the phone she’d given him. “He’s taking care of it. Lots of wolf’s bane and fire involved, apparently.”

“Fine.” She opened the door. “Well, good night. See you at school.”

“See you.”

“And, um…” She couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, but looked at her toes instead. “If Kate was using wolf’s bane bullets it’s probably going to really hurt Derek so he might want to go to Deaton’s.”

“I’m on it.”

Lydia didn’t bother with a shower before she collapsed into her bed, and she very deliberately avoided any reflections on her way there. Once she closed her eyes, though, she couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips up.

_I killed my uncle for you!_

It was one way to show a girl you cared.

She fell asleep and didn’t dream once.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose ends, wrapped. Or some of them, anyway; this is only Season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love, hugs, and inappropriate expressions of affection to einfach_mich, FatedFeathers, and grrlinterrupted for their encouragement and pre-reading skills. And many many thanks to those readers who've stuck with this story to the end.

Over the next week, Lydia’s window became her default door, so much so that she considered putting a ladder in a convenient place just so she didn’t have to worry about the possible toll to her human friends’ lives or limbs.

Allison was the first to climb in, but at least she used a grappling hook.

“My window sill might never be the same,” Lydia said once the other girl stood on the carpet. She didn’t bother looking up from her nails. Clear coats were not a trifling matter. Prada jumped off the bed and ran to Allison.

“Sorry. I didn’t think your mom would react well to the front door opening at midnight.” Allison moved closer until her boots intruded on Lydia’s field of vision. “So, um… are we still friends?”

“Maybe.” Lydia glanced at her. Deep blue circles surrounded Allison’s eyes, and her mouth pulled down at the corners even though she petted Prada with a steady hand. “Did you know what Kate was doing?”

“No. Well, sort of.” Allison ducked her head and peeped out at Lydia from between strands of hair. “I didn’t know what she was doing to you until she told me, after the fact.”

“But you knew about what she was doing to Derek.” Lydia screwed the cap onto the nail polish and sat up. “That’s really messed up, Allison.”

“I didn’t know about werewolves until then. I was scared, and I thought maybe she was right? But then I started to figure it out about Scott, and if _he_ was a werewolf, then Aunt Kate was wrong, and… I don’t know. I’m still trying to understand what this whole hunter thing means.” Allison’s expression shifted into slight resentment. “It would’ve helped if you would’ve told me what you knew.”

Lydia scoffed. “Yeah, right. And risk having you shoot me?”

“I’d never do that!” Allison plopped down on the bed next to her. Prada curled in her lap. “You’re my best friend.”

Lydia gazed at her for another moment before she relented. “You’re mine, too.” She patted Allison’s knee. “It’s a good thing we’re being honest with each other, because I was being drowned in testosterone.”

“Hey!” Allison grabbed her wrist with a gentle hand and turned it to inspect it. “Your bite—it’s better.”

“Finally.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Apparently all it took was bleeding for weeks on end and then the Alpha who bit me dying. I’m so glad not to have black ooze leaking out of my skin, you have no idea.”

“I bet I can guess.” Allison gave her a tentative smile. “See you at school?”

“Definitely.”

Lydia followed her to the window and pulled the grappling hook free once Allison’s feet touched the ground, tossing it down to her with a smile and wave.

The next night, it was Isaac’s turn.

Lydia scurried to her bedroom door the instant she saw his face, grabbing the doorknob as she said, “Are you in control of yourself?” Prada flattened his ears and bared his teeth but didn’t stir from her pillow. _Thanks a lot, mutt._

Isaac stared at her in obvious incomprehension for a second before saying, “Oh. Sorry.” His features turned human. “Apparently I’m pretty good at that, actually. It’s the only thing I’ve figured out so far, but Scott’s helping a lot.”

She relaxed enough to walk toward him a couple steps. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry for not telling you what Derek had planned for Peter.” He shrugged. “He told me not to tell you, but I could have anyway. So, sorry.”

He spent a lot of his time apologizing, but Lydia rarely had apologies directed toward her. Something about this one made the hard knot that had resided in her chest since Peter’s death loosen. “Whatever. It’s fine. I suppose I can understand the reasoning behind it.”

Isaac ran his hand through his hair and offered a shy smile. “Cool.”

The curtain whipped in the draft created by his departure.

Lydia looked at her reflection in the shard of mirror still propped up on her vanity. The mirror-girl blew her a kiss. Now that shadow-Peter was gone, she had gotten downright cheeky. Lydia blew a kiss back, anyway.

The next night was Scott and Stiles. Scott came first, poking his head through the window to ask, “Can I come in? I saw it was open and the curtains were drawn, so…”

“You know my mother can sleep through anything. I don’t understand why you didn’t just walk through the door.”

Scott grinned, finishing the entry into her room and turning back to lower the rope he’d held coiled around his shoulder. “It’s so Stiles can do this. He’s always complaining about all the cool stuff I can do now that I’m a werewolf and he’s not, so I told him if we got a chance he should try climbing in through a bedroom window.”

Lydia laughed in spite of herself and got up from her new desk to stand behind Scott, looking down at Stiles’ ungainly scramble up her wall. For all his undignified movements, he still ascended quickly. “He’s a pretty decent climber.”

“Yeah, he does good.” Scott gave a final heft to the rope and sent Stiles sailing past them into the center of the bedroom. “There we go.”

Putting her arms on her hips, Lydia asked, “Why are you two here?”

Stiles jumped to his feet and brushed himself off before whirling to face her. “You seemed kind of down today at school, and you didn’t talk to any of us, and you didn’t sit with us at lunch, so—”

“We were worried,” Scott finished. “Are you okay?”

Lydia shrugged. “I guess.” She wandered back to the door and let in Prada, who was desperately scratching and whining, then walked to her desk and sat down, avoiding their eyes.

“Has Jackson said anything to you?” Stiles wanted to know.

With a sigh, Lydia shook her head. “No. I don’t think he knows what to say. Although my mom says she talked to his mom the other day, and she’s separating from his dad, so I guess this is an all-around bad time in his life.”

“I tried to talk to him but he won’t listen.” Scott sat down on her bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking glum. “I just want to help him with the werewolf stuff a little so he doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“Anybody _else_ ,” Stiles added, sitting next to him. “Maybe he’ll listen to Derek.”

“He said he was going to try but I dunno.”

Lydia sat up straighter. “Wait. Derek talked to you?” Too late, she realized how eager it sounded, but she couldn’t take it back now.

They glanced at each other, then back at her. Scott asked the question obviously on both their minds. “He hasn’t called _you_?”

“No.” He really was a jerk.

“Well, you did kind of tell him to never talk to you again,” Stiles pointed out.

Scott’s face held a sneer of disbelief Lydia hoped matched her own. “As if that matters!” she snapped.

Stiles, bewildered, looked from her to Scott and then threw his arms over his face, collapsing back onto the bed. “I’m never gonna get a girlfriend.”

When they left, they went through the door, like the normal people they weren’t.

The next couple of nights passed without a visit, but Lydia left her window cracked open anyway, just in case… just in case.

 _If you have an advantage, you should press it,_ her father’s voice said in approving fashion.

 _Playing hard to get never hurt a girl,_ her mother added.

Nice to know they could agree on something, even if it was only in her head.

The next evening while she was doing homework, her phone buzzed. Checking the screen, she read: _Derek_.

Lydia hit the end button and went back to her books.

The voicemail icon popped up on her screen in the same instant that she got a new text message from him. She cleared her alerts and picked up her pen again.

At last, the window slid open. Hiding her smile, she turned and directed a narrowed-eyed stare at Derek. “What are you doing here?”

He stood by the sill, arms crossed, unrepentant as far as she could tell. “I told you I was coming over.”

“Oh, really?” She picked up her phone and pretended to examine it. “I must have been on the other line.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been standing outside for the past half hour.”

Stupid werewolf ears, undoing her act. Knowing he could hear her heart thump at the revelation didn’t help her pique. “That’s a stalkerish amount of time. Trying to come up with an excuse?” She put the cap back on her pen with unnecessary force. “Please tell me you at least know you _should_ have a guilty conscience.”

With a sigh, he scooped up Prada into his arms and came closer. “Would it help if I said I _do_ have a guilty conscience?”

Lydia gave him a sideways glance. “Maybe. If you’re guilty for the right thing. Don’t say ‘killing Peter.’”

Derek laughed. “No. Definitely not that.”

“Good.” She relented enough to walk over to her bed and sit, patting the mattress in invitation. “So… are you the Alpha now? How does that whole thing work?”

His eyes lit up blue in answer, but he said it anyway. “No, I’m not.” Sitting down a disappointing distance away on the bed, he added, “Normally, if someone kills an Alpha, she or he takes the Alpha’s place, but I think in this case since there were three of us doing it, and he didn’t die of a single killing blow, it didn’t work that way.” Prada licked his chin, and Derek gave him a scratch behind the ears before setting him down on the floor.

“Hmm.” After a moment’s thought, Lydia asked, “Does that make you an Omega again? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He scooted closer. “I don’t feel alone like that anymore.”

Lydia dared to slide her hand across her blankets and brush his fingertips with hers. “You don’t?”

“Well, Scott and I are brothers now. So’s Isaac. Jackson… might be.”

 _Jackson_? Ugh. She jerked her hand back and scowled. “I’m so glad you have your super-secret howlbros to keep you company now. Maybe _they_ want you intruding on their personal space but I have things I need to do so—”

With a muffled laugh, Derek grabbed her and hauled her into his lap. She struggled for a moment, just for the sake of her pride, but then she couldn’t hold out any longer and snuggled into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him.

“If you’d let me finish,” he said, voice vibrating against her ear, “I would have said: besides, I feel like I’ve got another Alpha now.”

She jerked upright to stare at him. “You aren’t serious.” He only gave a half-shrug in response. “Has anyone checked you for a concussion lately?”

“You’re not up for the job?”

If she hadn’t put one hand on his chest to steady herself, she would have been fooled by the evenness of his tone. The way his heart pounded against her palm told her the truth, though. “I’m a teenaged girl whose main supernatural skill seems to be staying alive when everyone dies around her.”

Derek’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re a brilliant female who was bit by an Alpha and didn’t just survive, but pulled a pack together to protect her.”

When he put it _that_ way… “Shouldn’t an Alpha be able to protect her pack? Bite people? All that good stuff?”

He lifted one hand to his chest to overlay her fingers. “I can bite people. I can’t be the leader you can.”

“I can’t keep you safe,” she whispered.

“The thing about a pack is, no one wolf keeps the others safe by itself. They work together. They’re family.”

Family. She’d never had much of that in her life.

“If I’d been honest with my mom about what I was doing, with Kate, she would be alive today.” At her frown, he shrugged again. Clearly self-flagellation wasn’t on his agenda tonight. “It’s the truth. We all need to keep each other safe.”

“And honesty is a big part of that.” Fear clenched her stomach even as she said the words. “How much honesty do you need, exactly?”

Derek thought about it for a moment. “Enough to know that I’m not putting you in a role you don’t want to play. Or roles.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I was born to be in charge.” She said it without any archness, for once, and he didn’t smile. “That role is a given. But the other role you might want me to play?” She didn’t know what to call it. _Girlfriend_ sounded so trite. _Lover_ sounded like something her mother would say. “You told me you loved me.”

His cheeks reddened the slightest bit. “Do you wish I hadn’t?”

“No,” she replied, before he finished asking the question. “Not at all. It’s just that I’m not sure what to say in return.” Did she love Derek? She was pretty sure the answer was yes, but then again everyone always said that teenagers couldn’t _really_ love someone, and Lydia was smart enough to recognize her areas of ignorance. Besides, she’d sort of loved Jackson and he was an all-around dick so who knew.

“Oh.” Another long pause, during which she could see him considering and discarding various responses. “You know, werewolves do this sort of thing differently from humans.”

“How?”

“We don’t really call each other boyfriends or girlfriends, or whatever. Sometimes we get married, but it’s for ease in the human world, not because we think the ceremony matters. We stay together for as long as that’s what everyone involved wants. That’s the only rule. So, as long as I know that you want to be together with me, I don’t care if you say anything when I tell you I love you.” He gave her a real smile. “We don’t need words all that much, anyway.”

Lydia threw herself at him so hard that he went over backwards, pulling her with him. “Don’t stop saying it,” she ordered. “And I won’t stop showing you.”

“Showing me—” She pulled her shirt off over her head. “Okay.” He helped her wriggle out of her skirt and then reached around to unclasp her bra. Tossing the scrap of lace and wire into a corner, he pulled her down so he could kiss her.

Lydia broke free and nibbled at his jaw, laughing at the impatient way his hands roamed over her skin and pulled her tight against him. “You missed me.” At her silent prompting, Derek drew his shirt up and off. Lydia pulled back again, batting his fingers away, and inspected his shoulder. A nasty-looking scar marked where Kate had shot him, but it was obviously healed. “I’m glad you got that looked at.”

“Stiles told me you told _him_ to take me to Deaton’s.”

Lydia avoided his gaze by kissing his collarbone. “I’m not admitting any such thing.”

Derek pulled her close again. “You missed me, too.” She made a delighted noise once her breasts pressed to his chest, and he gave her a look that was pure masculine ego. “Now that, you can admit.”

She made a moue of disgruntlement but assented. “Yes. I did.” The gentleness in how he caressed her sides might have had something to do with her admitting it. “Now take off these jeans.”

He moved to stand up, so she stood too, to get out of his way, and removed her underwear. No sooner had his pants dropped to the floor than she found herself pinned against the wall, his mouth fastened to her neck.

“Oh God,” she gasped out, wriggling downward. “I really need— _yes,_ just like that,” as he lowered her onto his erection. She’d always wanted to try this position but when she’d considered the logistics, it had seemed fairly likely that she’d be dropped on her ass. No such worries with Derek. “You’re amazing. My first order as your Alpha is that you do this every night with me.”

He bit her earlobe in answer and pulled one of her legs more tightly around his waist. And then he started to move.

It took a while, since they hadn’t spent much time in foreplay, but Derek didn’t seem to mind, kissing her face, her shoulders, her neck, while she anchored her nails in his skin and let her brain shut down for once in favor of feeling. And it felt _different_ , though the mechanics were the same—something about admitting the way she cared for him, however indirectly, had freed her to accept all the emotion she could sense in Derek’s touch. She never would have said so out loud, but she almost didn’t want it to end.

At last, though, the tightening in the pit of her stomach began. She reached down to caress his cock as it slid in and out of her, which made his neck flush and his breathing catch, and those things combined served to send her into her orgasm. Derek came with her, wrapping his arms so tightly around her body that she nearly couldn’t breathe. She kissed him everywhere she could reach.

Finally, his embrace loosened, but instead of letting her slide down to the floor he turned and carried her to the bed. Once they were both cleaned up, he joined her under the covers and pulled her close to spoon.

With a kiss to her temple, he murmured, “I love you.”

She arched her neck back to kiss his jaw. “I’m glad we’re together.” Yawning, she snuggled deeper into his warmth. “My second order as your Alpha is that you have to get a real bedroom so we can do this at your place.”

Silent laughter shook his chest against her back. “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Get used to it,” she advised, and turned off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are nerds like me and like to know soundtracks:
> 
> [How Do You Ruin Me?](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6IqX7_Iftg) by Black Prairie  
> [Is There a Ghost](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QremHCvOG-I) by Band of Horses  
> [The Earth Isn't Humming](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcD81fKRZVU) by Thrice  
> [Heavenly Bodies](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2C3YNBKSzgo) by Tamaryn  
> [Diet Mountain Dew](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sap8TcoJpZw) by Lana del Rey  
> [Backdraft](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEhTbP4HVVs) by Thrice  
> [I Only Have Eyes for You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvzNeh4Mq1o) by The Flamingos  
> [Show Me Love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic232Ewelvs) by School of Seven Bells  
> [Fever Dream](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJUKoLPh5pg) by Young Summer  
> [Digging My Own Grave](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Wp7d_kgxI0) by Thrice  
> [Funny Heartbeat](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiCcwPxXn0c) by Kisses  
> [World on Fire](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8G8qVvOUngg) by The Royal Concept  
> [Big Bad Wolves](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ExWaqI8IN4) by Walk the Moon  
> [Distance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZV6lntyGMgI) by Christina Perri  
> Barrage of Hate by The Manges  
> [The Night](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSAiuHRuFc4) by School of Seven Bells  
> [Rescue Song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGIavgj7NRM) by Mr. Little Jeans  
> [Rocks](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvebHdAUSKo) by Imagine Dragons


End file.
